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KATIA 


BY 


COUNT    LEON    TOLSTOI 

Author  of  "War  and  Peace,"  "  What  I  Believe,"  etc. 


TRANSLA  TED  FROM  THE  FRENCH 


— AUTHORIZED    EDITION — 


NEW  YORK 

WILLIAM  S.  GOTTSBERGER,   PUBLISHER 

II    MURRAY    STREET 

1887 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1887 

BY  WILLIAM  S.  GOTTSBERGER 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  ol  Congress,  at  Washington 


KATIA, 


CHAPTER  I. 

WE  were  in  mourning  for  our  mother,  who 
had  died  the  preceding  autumn,  and  we  had 
spent  all  the  winter  alone  in  the  country  — Macha, 
Sonia  and  I. 

Macha  was  an  old  family  friend,  who  had  been 
our  governess  and  had  brought  us  all  up,  and  my 
memories  of  her,  like  my  love  for  her,  went  as  far 
back  as  my  memories  of  myself. 

Sonia  was  my  younger  sister. 

The  winter  had  dragged  by,  sad  and  sombre, 
in  our  old  country-house  of  Pokrovski.  The 
weather  had  been  cold,  and  so  windy  that  the 
snow  was  often  piled  high  above  our  windows; 
the  panes  were  almost  always  cloudy  with  a  coat- 
ing of  ice ;  and  throughout  the  whole  season  we 


2  KATIA. 

were  shut  in,  rarely  finding  it  possible  to  go  out 
of  the  house. 

It  was  very  seldom  that  any  one  came  to  see 
us,  and  our  few  visitors  brought  neither  joy  nor 
cheerfulness  to  our  house.  They  all  had  mourn- 
ful faces,  spoke  low,  as  if  they  were  afraid  of  wak- 
ing some  one,  were  careful  not  to  laugh,  sighed 
and  often  shed  tears  when  they  looked  at  me, 
and  above  all  at  the  sight  of  my  poor  Sonia  in 
her  little  black  frock.  Everything  in  the  house 
still  savored  of  death  ;  the  affliction,  the  horror  of 
the  last  agony  yet  reigned  in  the  air.  Mamma's 
chamber  was  shut  up,  and  I  felt  a  painful  dread 
and  yet  an  irresistible  longing  to  peep  furtively 
into  the  chill,  desolate  place  as  I  passed  it  every 
night  on  my  way  to  bed. 

I  was  at  this  time  seventeen  years  old,  and 
the  very  year  of  her  death  Mamma  had  intended 
to  remove  to  the  city,  in  order  to  introduce  me 
into  society.  The  loss  of  my  mother  had  been  a 
great  sorrow  to  me ;  but  I  must  confess  that  to 
this  grief  had  been  added  another,  that  of  seeing 
myself — young,  beautiful  as  I  heard  from  every 


KATIA.  3 

one  that  I  was, — condemned  to  vegetate  during 
a  second  winter  in  the  country,  in  a  barren  soli- 
tude. Even  before  the  end  of  this  winter,  the 
feeling  of  regret,  of  isolation,  and,  to  speak  plainly, 
of  ennui,  had  so  gained  upon  me  that  I  scarcely 
•ever  left  my  own  room,  never  opened  my  piano, 
and  never  even  took  a  book  in  my  hand.  If 
Macha  urged  me  to  occupy  myself  with  something 
I  would  reply :  "  I  do  not  wish  to,  I  cannot,"  and 
far  down  in  my  soul  a  voice  kept  asking:  "What 
is  the  use  ?  Why  '  do  something  '  —  no  matter 
what  —  when  the  best  of  my  life  is  wearing  away 
so  in  pure  loss  ?  Why?"  And  to  this  "Why?"  I 
had  no  answer  except  tears. 

I  was  told  that  I  was  growing  thin  and  losing  my 
beauty,  but  this  gave  me  not  the  slightest  concern. 
Why,  and  for  whom,  should  I  take  interest  in  it  ? 
It  seemed  to  me  that  my  entire  life  was  to  drift 
slowly  away  in  this  desert,  borne  down  by  this 
hopeless  suffering,  from  which,  given  up  to  my 
own  resources  alone,  I  had  no  longer  the  strength, 
nor  even  the  wish,  to  set  myself  free. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  winter  Macha  became 


4  KATIA. 

seriously  uneasy  about  me,  and  determined  come 
what  might  to  take  me  abroad.  But  for  this, 
money  was  essential,  and  as  yet  we  knew  little  of 
our  resources  beyond  the  fact  that  we  were  to 
succeed  to  our  mother's  inheritance ;  however,  we 
were  in  daily  expectation  of  a  visit  from  our 
guardian,  who  was  to  examine  the  condition  of 
our  affairs. 

He  came  at  last,  late  in  March. 

"Thank  Heaven  !"  said  Macha  to  me  one  day, 
when  I  was  wandering  like  a  shadow  from  one 
corner  to  another,  perfectly  idle,  without  a 
thought  in  my  head  or  a  wish  in  my  heart: 
"  Sergius  Mikai'lovitch  has  sent  word  that  he  will 
be  here  before  dinner. — You  must  rouse  yourself, 
my  little  Katia,"  she  added;  "what  will  he  think 
of  you  ?  He  loves  you  both  so  much  !" 

Sergius  Mikai'lovitch  was  our  nearest  neighbor, 
and  though  much  his  junior  had  been  the  friend 
of  our  dead  father.  Besides  the  pleasant  change 
which  his  arrival  might  cause  in  our  life,  by 
making  it  possible  for  us  to  leave  the  country, 
I  had  been  too  much  accustomed,  from  my  child- 


KATIA.  5 

hood,  to  love  and  respect  him,  for  Macha  not  to 
divine  while  urging  me  to  rouse  myself,  that  still 
another  change  might  be  worked  and  that,  of  all 
my  acquaintances,  he  was  the  one  before  whom  I 
would  be  most  unwilling  to  appear  in  an  unfavor- 
able light.  Not  only  did  I  feel  the  old  attach- 
ment for  Sergius  Mikailovitch  which  was  shared  by 
every  one  in  the  house,  from  Sonia,  who  was  his 
god-daughter,  down  to  the  under-coachman,  but 
this  attachment  had  derived  a  peculiar  character 
from  a  few  words  Mamma  had  once  let  fall  before 
me.  She  had  saidtthat  he  was  just  the  husband 
that  she  would  have  wished  for  me.  At  the  mo- 
ment such  an  idea  had  appeared  to  me  very  ex- 
traordinary and  even  somewhat  disagreeable; 
the  hero  of  my  imagination  was  totally  different. 
My  own  hero  was  to  be  slender,  delicate,  pale,  and 
melancholy.  Sergius  Mikailovitch,  on  the  con- 
trary, was  no  longer  young,  he  was  tall  and  large, 
full  of  vigor,  and,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  had 
an  extremely  pleasant  temper;  nevertheless  my 
mother's  remark  had  made  a  strong  impression  on 
my  imagination.  This  had  happened  six  years 


6  KATIA. 

before,  when  I  was  only  eleven,  when  he  still 
said  "  thou  "  to  me,  played  with  me,  and  gave  me 
the  name  of  La  petite  violette,  yet  ever  since  that 
day  I  had  always  felt  some  secret  misgivings 
whenever  I  had  asked  myself  the  question  what  I 
should  do  if  he  should  suddenly  take  a  fancy  to 
marry  me  ? 

A  little  before  dinner,  to  which  Macha  had 
added  a  dish  of  spinach  and  a  sweet  entre  rnets, 
Sergius  Mikailovitch  arrived.  I  was  looking  out 
of  the  window  when  his  light  sledge  approached,, 
and  as  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  house  I  hastily 
drew  back  into  the  drawing-room,  not  wishing  to 
let  him  see  that  I  had  been  watching  for  him  the 
least  in  the  world.  But  upon  hearing  sounds  in 
the  ante-chamber,  his  strong  voice,  and  Macha's 
footsteps,  I  lost  patience  and  went  myself  to  meet 
him.  He  was  holding  Macha's  hand,  and  talking 
to  her  in  a  raised  voice,  smiling.  When  he  per- 
ceived me,  he  stopped  and  looked  at  me  for  some 
moments  without  saluting  me ;  it  embarrassed  me 
a  good  deal,  and  I  felt  myself  blush. 

"  Ah !  is  it  possible  that  this  is  you,  Katia  ?'* 


KATIA.  7 

he  said  in  his  frank,  decided  tone,  disengaging  his 
hand  and  approaching  me. 

"  Can  people  change  so !  How  you  have 
grown !  Yesterday  a  violet !  To-day  the  full 
rose !" 

His  large  hand  clasped  mine,  pressing  it  so 
cordially,  so  strongly,  that  he  almost  hurt  me. 
I  had  thought  he  might  kiss  me,  and  bent  a  little 
towards  him ;  but  he  only  caught  it  a  second 
time,  and  looked  me  straight  in  the  eyes  with  his 
bright,  steady  glance. 

I  had  not  seen  him  for  six  years.  He  was 
much  changed,  older,  browner,  and  his  whiskers, 
which  he  had  allowed  to  grow,  were  not  particu- 
larly becoming  to  him;  but  he  had  the  same 
simple  manners,  the  same  open,  honest  face,  with 
its  marked  features,  eyes  sparkling  with  intelli- 
gence, and  smile  as  sweet  as  a  child's. 

At  the  end  of  five  minutes  he  was  no  longer 
on  the  footing  of  a  mere  visitor,  but  on  that  of  an 
intimate  guest  with  us  all,  and  even  the  servants 
manifested  their  joy  at  his  arrival,  by  the  eager 
zeal  with  which  they  served  him. 


8  KATIA. 

He  did  not  act  at  all  like  a  neighbor  who, 
coming  to  a  house  for  the  first  time  after  the 
mother's  death,  thinks  it  necessary  to  bring  with 
him  a  solemn  countenance ;  on  the  contrary,  he 
was  gay,  talkative,  and  did  not  say  a  single  word 
about  Mamma,  so  that  I  began  to  think  this  indif- 
ference on  the  part  of  a  man  standing  in  such  near 
relation  to  us  very  strange,  and  rather  unseemly. 
But  I  soon  saw  that  it  was  far  from  being  indif- 
ference, and  read  in  his  intention  a  considerateness 
for  which  I  could  not  help  being  grateful. 

In  the  evening  Macha  gave  us  tea  in  the  draw- 
ing-room where  it  had  been  usually  served  during 
Mamma's  lifetime.  Sonia  and  I  sat  near  her; 
Gregory  found  one  of  Papa's  old  pipes,  and 
brought  it  to  our  guardian,  who  began  to  pace  up 
and  down  the  room  according  to  his  old  fashion. 

"  What  terrible  changes  in  this  house,  when 
one  thinks  of  it !"  said  he,  stopping  suddenly. 

"Yes,"  replied  Macha  with  a  sigh;  and  re- 
placing the  top  of  the  samovar,  she  looked  up  at 
Sergius  Mikai'lovitch,  almost  ready  to  burst  into 
tears. 


KATIA.  9 

"  No  doubt  you  remember  your  father  ?"  he 
asked  me. 

"  A  little." 

"  How  fortunate  it  would  be  for  you,  now,  to 
have  him  still  !"  he  observed  slowly,  with  a 
thoughtful  air,  casting  a  vague  glance  into  vacancy 
over  my  head.  And  he  added  more  slowly  still: 

"  I  loved  your  father  very  much.  .  ." 

I  thought  I  detected  a  new  brightness  in  his 
eyes  at  this  moment. 

"  And  now  God  has  taken  away  our  mother 
also !"  exclaimed  Macha.  Dropping  her  napkin 
on  the  tea-tray,  she  pulled  out  her  handkerchief 
and  began  to  cry. 

"  Yes,  there  have  been  terrible  changes  in  this 
house !" 

He  turned  away  as  he  spoke. 

Then,  a  moment  after :  "  Katia  Alexandrovna," 
he  said,  in  a  louder  voice,  "play  me  some- 
thing !" 

I  liked  the  tone  of  frank,  friendly  authority 
with  which  he  made  this  request ;  I  rose  and 
went  to  him. 


IO  KATIA. 

"  Here,  play  me  this,"  said  he,  opening  my 
Beethoven  at  the  adagio  of  the  sonata,  Quasi  una 
fantasia.  "  Let  us  see  how  you  play,"  he  con- 
tinued, taking  his  cup  of  tea  to  drink  in  a  corner 
of  the  room. 

I  know  not  why,  but  I  felt  it  would  be  impos- 
sible either  to  refuse  or  to  put  forward  a  plea  of 
playing  badly;  on  the  contrary,  I  submissively 
sat  down  at  the  piano  and  began  to  play  as  well  as 
I  could,  although  I  was  afraid  of  his  criticism, 
knowing  his  excellent  taste  in  music. 

In  the  tone  of  this  adagio  there  was  a  preva- 
lent sentiment  which  by  association  carried  me 
away  to  the  conversation  before  tea,  and,  guided 
by  this  impression,  I  played  tolerably  well,  it 
seemed.  But  he  would  not  let  me  play  the 
scherzo. 

"  No,  you  will  not  play  it  well,"  said  he,  com- 
ing to  me,  "  stop  with  that  first  movement,  — 
which  has  not  been  bad  !  I  see  that  you  compre- 
hend music." 

This  praise,  certainly  moderate  enough,  de- 
lighted me  so  that  I  felt  my  color  rise.  It  was 


KATIA.  II 

something  so  new  and  agreeable  to  me  to  have 
the  friend,  the  equal  of  my  father,  speak  to  me 
alone,  seriously,  and  no  longer  as  though  he  were 
talking  to  a  child  as  he  used  to  do. 

He  talked  to  me  about  my  father,  telling  me 
how  they  suited  each  other,  and  what  a  pleasant 
life  they  had  led  together  while  I  was  occupied 
solely  with  my  playthings  and  school-books ;  and 
what  he  said  revealed  my  father  to  me  in  a 
light  quite  new  to  me,  for  the  first  time  I  seemed 
to  know  fully  his  simple  goodness.  My  guardian 
questioned  me  as  to  what  I  liked,  what  I  read,  what 
I  intended  doing,  and  gave  me  advice.  I  had  no 
longer  beside  me  the  gay  talker,  delighting  in 
badinage,  but  a  man  serious,  frank,  friendly,  for 
whom  I  felt  involuntary  respect,  while  at  the  same 
time  I  was  conscious  of  being  in  perfect  sympathy 
with  him.  This  consciousness  was  pleasing  to  me, 
nevertheless  there  was  a  certain  tension  in  con- 
versing with  him.  Every  word  I  uttered  left  me 
timid ;  I  wished  so  much  to  deserve  in  my  own 
person  the  affection  which  at  present  I  only  re- 
ceived because  I  was  my  father's  daughter ! 


12  KATIA. 

After  putting  Sonia  to  bed,  Macha  rejoined  us, 
and  began  to  pour  out  to  Sergius  Mikailovitch  her 
lamentations  on  the  score  of  my  apathy,  which  re- 
sulted she  complained  in  my  rarely  having  a  single 
word  to  say. 

"  Then  she  has  not  told  me  the  most  impor- 
tant thing  of  all,"  he  answered,  smiling,  and 
shaking  his  head  at  me  with  an  air  of  reproach. 

"  What  had  I  to  tell  ?"  I  replied:  "  that  I  was 
bored  ?  —  but  that  will  pass  away."  (And  indeed 
it  now  seemed  to  me,  not  only  that  my  ennui 
would  pass  away,  but  that  it  was  something 
already  gone  by,  which  could  not  return.) 

"  It  is  not  well  not  to  know  how  to  bear  soli- 
tude:—  is  it  possible  that  you  are  truly  a  'grown 
young  lady '  ?" 

"  I  believe  so  !"  I  answered  smiling. 

"  No,  no,  or  at  least  a  naughty  young  lady, 
who  only  lives  to  be  admired,  and  who,  when 
she  finds  herself  isolated,  gives  way,  and  no  longer 
enjoys  anything;  all  for  show,  nothing  for  her- 
self." 


KATIA  I J 

"  You  have  a  lovely  idea  of  me,  it  seems  !"  I 
answered,  to  say  something. 

"  No,"  he  returned,  after  a  moment's  silence  ; 
"  it  is  not  in  vain  that  you  have  that  resemblance 
to  your  father ;  there  is  something  in  you  !" 

Again  those  kind,  steadfast  eyes  exerted  their 
charm  over  me,  filling  me  with  strange  emotion. 

I  noticed  for  the  first  time  at  this  moment 
that  the  face  which  to  a  casual  glance  seemed  so 
gay,  the  expression,  so  peculiarly  his  own,  where 
at  first  one  seemed  to  read  only  serenity,  after- 
wards revealed  more  and  more  clearly,  a  reserve 
of  deep  thought  and  a  shade  of  sadness. 

"  You  should  not  feel  ennui,"  he  said,  "  you 
have  music,  which  you  are  able  to  understand 
books,  study ;  you  have  before  you  a  whole  life, 
for  which  the  present  is  the  only  moment  to  pre- 
pare yourself,  so  that  hereafter  you  may  not  have 
to  repine.  In  a  year  it  will  be  too  late." 

He  spoke  to  me  like  a  father  or  an  uncle, 
and  I  understood  that  he  was  making  an  effort  to 
come  to  my  level.  I  was  a  little  offended  that  he 
should  think  me  so  much  below  him,  and  on  the 


14  KATIA. 

other  hand,  it  was  gratifying  to  feel  that  he  cared 
to  make  the  effort  for  my  sake. 

The  rest  of  the  evening  was  devoted  to  a  busi- 
ness conversation  between  him  and  Macha. 

"  And  now,  good-night,  my  dear  Katia,"  said 
he,  rising,  approaching  me,  and  taking  my  hand. 

"  When  shall  we  see  each  other  again  ?"  asked 
Macha. 

"  In  the  spring,"  he  replied,  still  holding  my 
hand ;  "  I  am  now  going  to  Danilovka  "  (our  other 
estate) ;  "  I  must  look  into  matters  there  and 
make  some  necessary  arrangements,  then  I  have 
to  go  to  Moscow  upon  business  of  my  own,  and 
later  —  or  in  the  summer — we  shall  see  each 
other  again." 

"  Why  do  you  go  for  so  long  a  time  ?"  I  asked, 
dejectedly ;  for  I  was  already  hoping  to  see  him 
every  day,  and  it  was  with  a  sudden  sinking  of  my 
heart  that  I  thought  of  again  battling  with  my 
ennui.  Probably  my  eyes  and  voice  let  this  be 
guessed. 

"  Come,  occupy  yourself  more ;  drive  away 
the  blues !"  he  said  in  a  voice  that  seemed  to  me 


KATIA.  1 5 

too  placid  and  cold.  "  In  the  spring  I  will  hold 
an  examination,"  he  added,  dropping  my  hand 
without  looking  at  me. 

We  accompanied  him  to  the  ante-chamber, 
where  he  hurriedly  put  on  his  pelisse,  and  again 
his  eyes  seemed  to  avoid  mine. 

"  He  is  taking  very  useless  trouble !"  I  said  to 
myself,  "  can  it  be  possible  that  he  thinks  he  is 
giving  me  too  great  a  pleasure  by  looking  at 
me  !  —  An  excellent  man  —  Perfectly  good  .  .  . 
But  that  is  all." 

We  remained  awake  a  long  time  that  night 
talking,  not  of  him,  but  of  the  employment  of  the 
ensuing  summer,  of  where  and  how  we  should 
spend  the  winter.  Mighty  question,  yet  why  ? 
To  me  it  appeared  perfectly  simple  and  evident 
that  life  was  to  consist  in  being  happy,  and  in  the 
future  I  could  imagine  nothing  but  happiness,  so 
suddenly  had  our  sombre  old  dwelling  at  Pokrov- 
ski  filled  itself  with  life  and  light. 


16  KATIA. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  spring  came.  My  former  ennui  had  dis- 
appeared, and  in  exchange  I  felt  the  dreamy 
vernal  sadness,  woven  of  unknown  hopes  and  un- 
slaked desires.  But  my  life  was  no  longer  the 
existence  I  had  led  during  the  early  winter ;  I 
occupied  myself  with  Sonia,  with  music,  with 
studies,  and  I  often  went  into  the  garden,  to  spend 
a  long,  long,  time  in  wandering  alone  through  the 
shady  walks,  or  in  sitting  motionless  upon  some 
quiet  bench.  God  knows  what  I  was  thinking, 
what  I  was  wishing,  what  I  was  hoping  !  Some- 
times for  whole  nights,  especially  if  it  was  moon- 
light, I  would  remain  kneeling  at  my  window 
with  my  elbows  on  the  sill ;  morning  would  find 
me  there;  and  sometimes,  without  Macha's  know- 
ing it,  I  would  steal  down  into  the  garden  again 
after  I  was  in  my  simple  night-dress,  and  fly 
through  the  dew  to  the  little  pond ;  once  I  even 


KATIA.  I/ 

went  out  into  the  fields,  and  spent  the  rest  of 
the  night  roaming  alone  about  the  park. 

Now  it  is  difficult  for  me  to  recall,  still  less  to 
comprehend,  the  reveries  which  at  this  period 
filled  my  imagination.  If  I  can  succeed  in  re- 
membering them,  I  can  hardly  believe  that  these 
reveries  were  my  own,  so  strange  were  they,  so 
outside  of  real  life. 

At  the  end  of  May,  Sergius  Mikailovitch,  as 
he  had  promised,  returned  from  his  journey. 

The  first  time  he  came  to  see  us  was  in  the 
evening,  when  we  were  not  expecting  him  at  all. 
We  were  sitting  on  the  terrace,  preparing  to  take 
tea.  The  garden  was  in  full  verdure,  and  at  Pok- 
rovski  nightingales  had  their  homes  on  all  sides  in 
the  thick  shrubbery.  Here  and  there,  large 
clumps  of  lilacs  raised  their  heads,  enamelled  with 
the  white  or  pale  purple  of  their  opening  flowers. 
The  leaves  in  the  birch  alleys  seemed  transparent 
in  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  The  terrace  lay  in 
refreshing  shade,  and  the  light  evening  dew  was 
gathering  upon  the  grass.  In  the  court-yard  be- 
hind the  garden  were  heard  the  sounds  of  closing 


1 8  KATIA. 

day,  and  the  lowing  of  cows  returning  to  their 
stable ;  poor  half-witted  Nikone  came  along  the 
path  at  the  foot  of  the  terrace  with  his  huge 
watering-pot,  and  soon  the  torrents  of  cool  water 
traced  in  darkening  circles  over  the  newly-dug 
earth  of  the  dahlia  beds.  Beside  us  on  the  ter- 
race, the  shining  samovar  hissed  and  sputtered  on 
the  white  cloth,  flanked  by  cream,  pancakes,  and 
sweetmeats.  Macha,  with  her  plump  hands,  was 
dipping  the  cups  in  hot  water  like  a  good  house- 
keeper. As  to  me,  with  an  appetite  sharpened 
by  my  late  bath,  I  could  not  wait  for  tea,  but 
was  eating  a  crust  of  bread  soaked  in  fresh,  rich 
cream.  I  had  on  a  linen  blouse  with  loose  sleeves, 
and  my  damp  hair  was  bound  in  a  handker- 
chief. 

Macha  was  the  first  to  perceive  him. 

"  Ah  !  Sergius  Mikailovitch  !"  she  cried ;  "  we 
were  just  talking  about  you." 

I  rose  to  run  in  and  change  my  dress ;  but  he 
met  me  as  I  reached  the  door. 

"  Come,  Katia,  no  ceremony  in  the  country," 
said  he,  smiling,  and  looking  at  my  head  and  my 


KATIA.  19 

handkerchief,  "  you  have  no  scruples  before 
Gregory,  —  I  can  be  Gregory  to  you." 

But  at  the  same  time  it  darted  into  my  mind 
that  he  was  not  looking  at  me  precisely  as  Greg- 
ory would  have  done,  and  this  embarrassed  me. 

"  I  will  be  back  directly,"  I  replied,  drawing 
away  from  him. 

"What  is  wrong  about  it?"  he  exclaimed, 
following  me,  "one  might  take  you  for  a  little 
peasant  girl !" 

"  How  strangely  he  looked  at  me,"  I  thought, 
as  I  hastened  up-stairs  to  dress  myself.  "At 
last,  thank  Heaven,  here  he  is,  and  we  shall  be 
gayer  !"  And  with  a  parting  glance  at  the  mirror 
I  flew  down  again,  not  even  trying  to  conceal  my 
eager  delight,  and  reached  the  terrace,  out  of 
breath.  He  was  sitting  near  the  table,  talking  to 
Macha  about  our  business  matters.  Noticing  me, 
he  gave  me  a  smile,  and  went  on  talking.  Our 
affairs,  he  said,  were  in  very  satisfactory  condition. 
We  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  finish  our  country 
summer,  and  then  we  could  go,  either  to  St. 
Petersburg  for  Sonia's  education,  or  abroad. 


2O  KATIA. 

"  That  would  be  very  well,  if  you  would  come 
abroad  with  us,"  said  Macha,  "  but  by  ourselves 
we  should  be  like  people  lost  in  the  woods." 

"  Ah  !  would  to  Heaven  I  could  go  around 
the  world  with  you,"  was  the  half-jesting,  half- 
serious  answer. 

"  Well  and  good,"  said  I,  "  let  us  go  around 
the  world  then  !" 

He  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"  And  my  mother  ?  And  my  business  ? 
Come,  we  will  let  the  tour  of  the  world  alone, 
now,  and  you  can  tell  me  how  you  have  passed 
your  time.  Can  it  be  possible  that  you  have  had 
the  blues  again  ?" 

When  I  told  him  that  I  had -been  able,  with- 
out him,  to  employ  myself  and  not  to  yield  to 
ennui,  and  Macha  had  confirmed  the  good  ac- 
count, he  praised  me,  with  the  same  words  and 
looks  of  encouragement  he  would  have  used  to  a 
child,  and  as  if  he  had  a  perfect  right  to  do  so. 
It  seemed  to  me  quite  natural  that  I  should  tell 
him  frankly  and  minutely  everything  I  had  done 
that  was  right,  and  also,  on  the  contrary,  own  to 


KATIA.  2 1 

him,  as  if  in  the  confessional,  whatever  I  had  done 
that  might  deserve  his  censure.  The  evening  was 
so  beautiful  that,  when  the  tea-tray  was  carried 
away,  we  remained  upon  the  terrace,  and  I  found 
the  conversation  so  interesting  that  I  only  gradu- 
ally became  aware  that  all  the  sounds  from  the 
house  were  ceasing  around  us.  Upon  all  sides 
arose  the  penetrating  night  perfume  of  flowers, 
the  turf  was  drenched  with  heavy  dew,  the  night- 
ingale in  a  lilac  bush  near  us  was  executing  his 
roulades,  stopping  abruptly  at  the  sound  of  our 
voices.  The  starry  sky  seemed  to  stoop  close 
above  our  heads. 

What  warned  me  that  night  had  come,  was 
the  swift,  heavy  rush  of  a  bat  beneath  the  awning 
of  the  terrace,  and  its  blind,  terrified  circling 
around  my  white  dress.  I  fell  back  against  the 
wall,  and  almost  cried  out,  but  with  another  dull 
swoop  it  was  off  again  and  lost  in  the  blackness  of 
the  garden. 

"  How  I  love  your  Pokrovski,"  said  Sergius 
Mikailovitch,  interrupting  the  conversation.  .  .  . 
"  One  could  linger  for  a  lifetime  on  this  terrace  !" 


22  KATIA. 

"  Well,"  said  Macha,  "  linger  !" 

"Ah,  yes!  linger;  but  life — does  not  pause!" 

"  Why  do  you  not  marry  ?"  continued  Macha ; 
"you  would  make  an  excellent  husband  !" 

"Why?"  he  repeated,  smiling.  "People  long 
ago,  ceased  to  count  me  a  marriageable  man  !" 

"  What !"  replied  Macha,  "thirty-six  years  old, 
and  already  you  pretend  to  be  tired  of  living  ?" 

"  Yes,  certainly,  and  even  so  tired  that  I  de- 
sire nothing  but  rest.  To  marry,  one  must  have 
something  else  to  offer.  There,  ask  Katia,"  he 
added,  pointing  me  out  with  a  nod  "  Girls  of  her 
age  are  the  ones  for  marriage.  For  us.  ...  our 
role  is  to  enjoy  their  happiness." 

There  was  a  secret  melancholy,  a  certain  ten- 
sion in  the  tone  of  his  voice,  which  did  not  escape 
me.  He  kept  silence  a  moment ;  neither  Macha 
nor  I  said  anything. 

"  Imagine  now,"  he  resumed,  turning  towards 
the  table  again,  "if  all  at  once,  by  some  deplor- 
able accident,  I  should  marry  a  young  girl  of 
seventeen,  like  Katia  Alexandrovna !  That  is  a 
very  good  example,  and  I  am  pleased  that  it 


KATIA.  23 

applies  so  well  to  the  point.  .  .  .  there  could  not 
be  a  better  instance." 

I  began  to  laugh,  but  I  could  not  at  all  under- 
stand what  pleased  him  so  much,  nor  to  what  it 
applied  so  well. 

"  Come,  now,  tell  me  the  truth,  '  hand  on 
heart,'  "  he  went  on,  turning  to  me  with  a  banter- 
ing air,  "  would  it  not  be  a  great  misfortune  for 
you,  to  bind  your  life  to  a  man  already  old, 
who  has  had  his  day,  and  wants  nothing  except 
to  stay  just  where  he  is,  while  you,  —  Heaven 
knows  where  you  would  not  want  to  run  off  to, 
as  the  fancy  took  you  !" 

I  felt  uncomfortable,  and  was  silent,  not  know- 
ing very  well  what  to  say  in  reply. 

"  I  am  not  making  a  proposal  for  your  hand," 
said  he,  laughing,  "  but,  now,  tell  us  the  truth  are 
you  dreaming  of  such  a  husband,  as  you  wander 
through  your  alleys  in  the  evening,  and  would  he 
not  be  a  great  misfortune  ?'•' 

"Not  so  great  a  misfortune  .-..."  I  began. 

"  And  not  so  great  a  boon,  either,"  he  finished 
for  me. 


24  KATIA. 

"  Yes  .  .  .  but  I  may  be  mistaken.  .  ." 

He  interrupted  me  again. 

"  You  see  ?  .  '  she  is  perfectly  right  ...  I  like 
her  honesty,  and  am  delighted  that  we  have  had 
this  conversation.  I  will  add  that  —  to  me  —  it 
would  have  been  a  supreme  misfortune !" 

"  What  an  original  you  are !  you  have  not 
changed  in  the  least !"  said  Macha,  leaving  the  ter- 
race to  order  supper  to  be  served. 

After  her  departure  we  were  silent,  and  all 
was  still  around  us.  Then  the  solitary  night- 
ingale recommenced,  not  his  abrupt,  undecided 
notes  of  early  evening,  but  his  night  song,  slow 
and  tranquil,  whose  thrilling  cadence  filled  the 
garden ;  and  from  far  down  the  ravine  came  for 
the  first  time  a  response  from  another  nightin- 
gale. The  one  near  us  was  mute  for  a  moment, 
listening,  then  burst  out  anew  in  a  rapture  of  song, 
louder  and  clearer  than  before.  Their  voices  re- 
sounded, calm  and  supreme,  amid  that  world  of 
night  which  is  their  own  and  which  we  inhabit  as 
aliens.  The  gardener  went  by,  on  his  way  to  his 
bed  in  the  orange-house,  we  heard  his  heavy  boots 


KATIA.  25 

on  the  path  as  he  went  farther  and  farther  from 
us.  Some  one  in  the  direction  of  the  mountain 
blew  two  shrill,  quick  notes  on  a  whistle,  then  all 
was  still  once  more.  Scarcely  a  leaf  was  heard  to 
move ;  yet  all  at  once  the  awning  of  the  terrace 
puffed  out  slowly,  stirred  by  a  breath  of  air,  and 
a  more  penetrating  perfume  stole  up  to  us  from 
below.  The  silence  embarrassed  me,  but  I  did 
not  know  what  to  say.  I  looked  at  him.  His  eyes, 
bright  in  the  darkness,  were  fixed  upon  me. 

"  It  is  good  to  live  in  this  world  !"  he  mur- 
mured. 

I  know  not  why,  but  at  the  words  I  sighed. 
- "  Well  ?"  he  questioned. 

"  Yes,  it  is  good  to  live  in  this  world  !"  I  re- 
peated. 

Again  the  silence  fell  upon  us,  and  again  I 
felt  ill  at  ease.  I  could  not  get  it  out  of  my  head 
that  I  had  hurt  him,  by  agreeing  with  him  that 
he  was  old  ;  I  would  have  liked  to  console  him, 
but  did  not  know  how  to  set  about  it. 

"  But  good-bye  !"  he  said,  rising,  "my  mother 


26  KATIA. 

expects  me  to  supper.  I  have  hardly  seen  her 
to-day." 

"  I  would  have  liked  to  play  you  my  new 
sonata." 

"  Another  time,"  he  replied  coldly,  at  least  so 
it  seemed  to  me ;  then,  moving  off  a  step,  he 
said  with  a  careless  gesture  :  "  Good-bye  !" 

I  was  more  than  ever  convinced  that  I  had 
given  him  pain,  and  this  distressed  me.  Macha 
and  I  went  with  him,  as  far  as  the  porch,  and  stood 
there  awhile  looking  down  the  road  where  he 
had  disappeared.  When  we  no  longer  caught 
the  slightest  echo  from  his  horse's  feet,  I  began  to 
walk  about  the  terrace  and  watch  the  garden,  and 
I  remained  a  long  time  there,  amid  the  heavy 
mist  that  deadened  all  the  sounds  of  night,  busy 
seeing  and  hearing  whatever  my  fancy  chose  to 
make  me  see  and  hear. 

He  came  a  second  time,  a  third  time,  and  the 
little  embarrassment  caused  by  our  strange  con- 
versation soon  vanished,  and  never  returned. 

Throughout  the  whole  summer  he  came  to  see 
us  two  or  three  times  a  week ;  I  was  so  accus- 


KATIA.  27 

tomed  to  him  that,  when  a  longer  time  than  usual 
passed  without  his  coming,  it  seemed  to  me  pain- 
ful to  live  alone ;  I  was  secretly  indignant  with 
him,  and  thought  he  was  behaving  badly  in  thus 
deserting  me.  He  transformed  himself  for  me, 
as  it  were,  into  a  friendly  comrade ;  inducing 
the  most  sincere  frankness  on  my  part,  giving 
me  advice  and  encouragement,  scolding  me 
sometimes,  checking  me  when  necessary.  But 
despite  these  efforts  to  remain  always  upon  my 
level,  I  was  conscious  that,  besides  all  I  knew 
of  him,  there  existed  within  him  an  entire  world, 
to  which  I  was  a  stranger,  and  he  did  not  think 
it  was  necessary  to  admit  me ;  and  this,  more 
than  anything  else,  tended  to  keep  up  my  feel- 
ing of  deference,  and  at  the  same  time  to  attract 
me  towards  him.  I  knew  from  Macha  and  the 
neighbors  that,  besides  his  attentive  care  of  his 
old  mother,  with  whom  he  lived,  besides  his  agri- 
cultural interests,  and  our  guardianship,  he  had 
also  on  hand  certain  matters  affecting  all  the 
nobles,  which  caused  him  much  trouble  and  an- 
noyance ;  but  how  he  faced  this  complex  situation 


28  KATIA. 

what  were  his  thoughts,  his  plans,  his  hopes,  I 
could  never  discover  from  him.  If  I  endeavored 
to  lead  the  conversation  to  his  own  affairs,  a  cer- 
tain line  appeared  upon  his  brow,  which  seemed 
to  say :  "  Stop  there,  if  you  please ;  what  is  that 
to  you  ?"  And  he  would  immediately  speak  of 
something  else.  At  first  this  offended  me,  then  I 
grew  so  accustomed  to  it  that  we  never  talked  of 
anything  but  what  concerned  me ;  which  I  finally 
came  to  think  quite  a  matter  of  course. 

At  first,  too,  I  felt  some  displeasure,  (while 
afterwards,  on  the  contrary,  it  had  a  kind  of 
charm,)  in  seeing  the  perfect  indifference,  I  might 
almost  say  contempt,  which  he  showed  for  my 
appearance.  Never,  by  word  or  look,  did  he  give 
the  least  idea  that  he  thought  me  pretty;  far  from 
it,  he  frowned  and  began  to  laugh  if  any  one  re- 
marked before  him  that  I  was  "not  bad-looking." 
He  even  took  pleasure  in  criticizing  the  defects 
in  my  face,  and  teasing  me  about  them.  The 
fashionable  dresses,  the  coiffures,  with  which 
Macha  delighted  to  adorn  me  on  our  holidays, 
only  excited  his  raillery,  which  chagrined  my 


KATIA.  29 

good  Macha  not  a  little,  and  at  first  disconcerted 
me.  Macha,  who  had  settled  in  her  own  mind 
that  I  was  pleasing  to  Sergius  Mikailovitch,  could 
not  at  all  comprehend  why  he  did  not  prefer 
that  a  woman  whom  he  admired  should  appear 
at  her  best.  But  I  soon  discovered  what  was  the 
matter.  He  wished  to  believe  that  I  was  not 
coquettish.  As  soon  as  I  understood  this  there 
no  longer  remained  a  trace  of  coquetry  in  my 
dress,  hair,  or  manner;  it  was  replaced  —  usual 
and  shallow  little  trick  —  by  another  coquetry, 
the  assumption  of  simplicity,  before  I  had  attained 
the  point  of  really  being  artless.  I  saw  that  he 
loved  me :  whether  as  a  child  or  woman  I  had 
not  hitherto  asked  myself:  this  love  was  dear  to 
me,  and  feeling  that  he  considered  me  the  best 
girl  in  the  world,  I  could  not  help  wishing  that 
the  delusion  might  continue  to  blind  him.  And 
indeed  I  deceived  him  almost  involuntarily.  But 
in  deluding  him,  I  was  nevertheless  growing 
more  what  he  thought  me.  I  felt  that  it  would  be 
better  and  more  worthy  of  him  to  unveil  to  him 
the  good  points  of  my  soul  rather  than  those  of 


30  KATIA. 

my  person.  My  hair,  my  hands,  my  face,  my 
carriage,  whatever  they  might  be,  whether  good 
or  bad,  —  it  seemed  to  me  he  could  appreciate 
at  one  glance,  and  that  he  knew  very  well 
that,  had  I  desired  to  deceive  him,  I  could  add 
nothing  at  all  to  my  exterior.  My  soul,  on  the 
contrary,  he  did  not  know :  because  he  loved  it, 
because  just  at  this  time  it  was  in  full  process  of 
growth  and  development,  and  finally  because  in 
such  a  matter  it  was  easy  to  deceive  him,  and  that 
I  was  in  fact  deceiving  him.  What  relief  I  felt 
in  his  presence,  when  once  I  comprehended  all 
this  !  The  causeless  agitation,  the  need  of  move- 
ment, which  in  some  way  oppressed  me,  com- 
pletely disappeared.  It  seemed  to  me  henceforth 
that  whether  opposite  or  beside  me,  whether 
standing  or  sitting,  whether  I  wore  my  hair 
dressed  high  or  low,  he  looked  at  me  always 
with  satisfaction,  that  he  now  knew  me  entirely ; 
and  I  imagined  that  he  was  as  well  pleased  with 
me,  as  I  myself  was.  I  verily  believe  that  if,  con- 
trary to  his  custom,  he  had  suddenly  said  to  me 
as  others  did  that  I  was  pretty,  I  should  even  have 


KATIA.  31 

been  a  little  sorry.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  what 
joy,  what  serenity,  I  felt  in  the  depth  of  my  soul, 
if,  upon  the  occasion  of  my  expressing  some 
thought  or  letting  fall  a  few  words,  he  looked 
at  me  attentively  and  said  in  a  moved  tone  which 
he  strove  to  render  light  and  jesting : 

"  Yes,  yes,  there  is  something  in  you  !  You 
are  a  good  girl,  and  I  ought  to  tell  you  so." 

And  for  what  did  I  receive  this  recompense 
which  filled  my  heart  with  joy  and  pride  ?  Per- 
haps because  I  had  said  that  I  sympathized  with 
old  Gregory's  love  for  his  little  daughter,  perhaps 
because  I  had  been  affected  to  tears  while  reading 
a  poem  or  a  romance,  perhaps  for  preferring 
Mozart  to  Schuloff!  I  was  amazed  by  this  new 
intuition,  which  enabled  me  to  divine  what  was 
good  and  what  one  ought  to  like,  though  as  yet 
I  had  no  positive  knowledge  of  either.  Most  of 
my  past  habits  and  tastes  were  displeasing  to  him, 
and  a  look  or  an  imperceptible  movement  of  his 
eyebrows  was  enough  to  make  me  understand  his 
disapproval  of  what  I  was  about  to  do ;  while  a 
certain  air  of  slightly  disdainful  pity,  which  was 


32  KATIA. 

peculiar  to  him,  would  at  once  make  me  believe 
that  I  no  longer  liked  what  had  formerly  pleased 
me.  If  the  thought  of  giving  me  advice  upon 
any  subject,  occurred  to  him,  I  knew  beforehand 
what  he  was  going  to  say  to  me.  He  questioned 
me  with  a  glance,  and  already  this  glance  had 
drawn  from  me  the  thought  he  wished  to  ascer- 
tain. All  my  thoughts,  all  my  feelings  during  that 
time,  were  not  my  own  ;  they  were  his,  which  sud- 
denly became  mine,  penetrating  and  illuminating 
my  life.  In  a  manner  insensible  to  me,  I  began 
to  see  everything  with  other  eyes,  Macha,  my 
servants,  Sonia,  as  well  as  myself  and  my  own  oc- 
cupations. The  books  which  formerly  I  had 
read  only  in  order  to  ward  off  ennui  appeared  to 
me  all  at  once  one  of  the  greatest  charms  of  life, 
and  for  no  reason  except  that  we  talked,  he  and 
I,  of  books,  that  we  read  them  together,  that  he 
brought  them  to  me.  Hitherto  I  had  considered 
my  work  with  Sonia,  the  lessons  I  gave  her,  as 
a  painful  obligation,  only  fulfilled  from  a  sense 
of  duty ;  now  that  he  sometimes  came  to  assist 
at  these  lessons  one  of  my  delights  was  to 


KATIA.  33 

observe  Sonia's  progress.  To  learn  an  entire 
piece  of  music  had  always  seemed  impossible, 
and  now,  knowing  that  he  would  listen  and  per- 
haps applaud  it,  I  thought  nothing  of  going  over 
the  same  passage  forty  times  in  succession,  poor 
Macha  would  end  by  stopping  her  ears  with  cot- 
ton wool,  while  I  would  not  consider  the  perform- 
ance at  all  tiresome.  The  old  sonatas  spoke  out 
under  my  fingers  in  a  very  different  and  very 
superior  voice.  Even  Macha,  whom  I  had  always 
known  and  loved  as  myself,  seemed  totally 
changed.  It  was  only  now  that  I  understood 
that  nothing  had  compelled  her  to  be  what  she 
had  been  to  us,  a  mother,  a  friend,  a  slave  to  our 
whims  and  fancies.  I  comprehended  all  the  ab- 
negation, all  the  devotion,  of  this  loving  creature, 
I  realized  the  greatness  of  my  obligations  to  her, 
and  loved  her  so  much  the  more.  He  had  already 
taught  me  to  regard  our  people,  our  peasants,  our 
drorovies,  *  our  men  and  women  servants,  in  a 
totally  different  light.  It  is  an  odd  fact,  but  at 
seventeen  years  of  age,  I  was  living  in  the  midst 

*  Peasants  attached  to  the  Household,  and  not  to  the  soil, 
3 


34  KATIA. 

of  them  a  far  greater  stranger  to  them  than  to 
people  I  had  never  seen ;  not  once  had  it  crossed 
my  mind  that  they  were  beings  capable  like  my- 
self of  love,  desires,  regrets.  Our  garden,  our 
woods,  our  fields,  which  I  had  known  ever  since  I 
was  born,  suddenly  became  quite  new  to  me, 
and  I  began  to  admire  their  loveliness.  There  was 
no  error  in  the  remark  which  he  so  often  made, 
that,  in  life,  there  was  but  one  certain  happiness : 
to  live  for  others.  This  had  appeared  strange  to 
me,  and  I  had  not  been  able  to  understand  it; 
but  the  conviction,  unknown  even  to  my  own 
mind,  was  penetrating  little  by  little  into  the 
depths  of  my  heart.  In  short,  he  had  opened 
before  me  a  new  life,  full  of  present  delights,  with- 
out having  in  any  wise  changed  or  added  to  my 
old  existence,  save  by  developing  each  of  my 
own  sensations.  From  my  infancy  everything 
around  me  had  remained  buried  in  a  sort  of 
silence,  only  awaiting  his  presence  to  lift  up  a 
voice,  speak  to  my  soul,  and  fill  it  with  happiness. 

Often,  in  the  course  of  this  summer,  I  would 
go  up  to  my  chamber,   throw  myself  upon  my 


KATIA.  35 

bed,  and  there,  in  place  of  the  old  anguish  of  the 
spring,  full  of  desires  and  hopes  for  the  future,  I 
would  feel  myself  wrapped  in  another  emotion, 
that  of  present  happiness.  I  could  not  sleep,  I 
would  get  up  and  go  and  sit  on  the  side  of 
Macha's  bed,  and  tell  her  that  I  was  perfectly 
happy,  —  which,  as  I  look  back  upon  it  to-day 
was  perfectly  needless ;  she  could  see  it  well 
enough  for  herself.  She  would  reply  that  neither 
had  she  anything  more  to  wish  for,  that  she  too 
was  very  happy,  and  would  embrace  me.  I  be- 
lieved her,  so  entirely  natural  and  necessary  did 
it  seem  to  me  for  every  one  to  be  happy.  But 
Macha  had  her  night's  rest  to  think  of,  so,  pre- 
tending to  be  angry,  she  would  drive  me  away 
from  her  bed,  and  drop  off  to  sleep ;  I,  on  the 
contrary,  would  lie  for  a  long  time  running  over 
all  my  reasons  for  being  gladsome.  Sometimes  I 
would  rise,  and  begin  my  prayers  a  second  time, 
praying  in  the  fulness  of  my  heart  that  I  might 
thank  God  better  for  all  the  happiness  He  had 
granted  me.  In  my  chamber  all  was  peaceful ; 
there  was  no  sound  save  the  long-drawn  regular 


36  KATIA. 

breathing  of  the  sleeping  Macha,  and  the  ticking 
of  the  watch  by  her  side ;  I  would  return  to  bed, 
murmur  a  few  words,  cross  myself,  or  kiss  the  little 
cross  hanging  at  my  neck.  The  doors  were 
locked,  the  shutters  fast  over  the  windows,  the 
buzzing  of  a  fly  struggling  in  a  corner  came  to  my 
ear.  I  could  have  wished  never  to  leave  this 
room  ;  desired  that  morning  might  never  come  to 
dissipate  the  atmosphere  impregnated  with  my 
soul,  that  enveloped  me.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
my  dreams,  my  thoughts,  my  prayers,  were  so 
many  animated  essences  which  in  this  darkness 
lived  with  me,  fluttered  about  my  pillow,  hovered 
above  my  head.  And  every  thought  was  his 
thought,  every  feeling  his  feeling.  I  did  not  yet 
know  what  love  was,  I  thought  that  it  might 
always  be  thus— that  it  might  give  itself  and  ask 
nothing  in  return. 


KATIA.  37 


CHAPTER  III. 

ONE  day,  during  the  grain  harvest,  Macha, 
Sonia,  and  I,  went  into  the  garden  after  dinner,  to 
our  favorite  bench  under  the  shade  of  the  linden- 
trees  at  the  head  of  the  ravine,  whence  we  could 
see  the  fields  and  the  woods.  For  three  days 
Sergius  Mikailovitch  had  not  been  to  see  us,  and 
we  looked  for  him  all  the  more  confidently  to- 
day, as  he  had  promised  our  intendant  to  visit  the 
harvest  fields. 

About  two  o'clock  we  saw  him  coming  over 
the  rising  ground  in  the  middle  of  a  rye  field. 
Macha,  giving  me  a  smile,  ordered  a  servant  to 
bring  out  some  peaches  and  cherries,  which  he 
was  very  fond  of,  then  stretched  herself  upon  the 
bench  and  was  soon  fast  asleep.  I  broke  off  a 
little  linden  bough,  its  leaves  and  bark  fresh  with 
young  sap,  and,  while  I  fanned  Macha,  went  on 
with  my  reading,  not  without  turning  every  in- 
stant to  watch  the  field-path  by  which  .he  must 


38  KATIA. 

come  to  us.  Sonia  had  established  herself  on  a 
linden  root,  and  was  busy  putting  up  a  green 
arbor  for  her  dolls. 

The  day  was  very  warm,  without  wind,  it 
seemed  as  if  we  were  in  a  hot-house ;  the  clouds, 
lying  in  a  low  circle  upon  the  horizon,  had  looked 
angry  in  the  morning,  and  there  had  been  a  threat 
of  storm,  which,  as  was  always  the  case,  had  ex- 
cited and  agitated  me.  But  since  mid-day  the 
clouds  had  dispersed,  the  sun  was  free  in  a  clear 
sky,  the  thunder  was  only  muttering  at  a  single 
point,  rolling  slowly  through  the  depths  of  a  heavy 
cloud  which,  seeming  to  unite  earth  and  heaven, 
blended  with  the  dust  of  the  fields,  and  was  fur- 
rowed by  pale  zig-zags  of  distant  lightning.  It 
was  evident  that  for  us  at  least  there  was  no  more 
to  be  dreaded  for  that  day.  In  the  part  of  the 
road  running  behind  the  garden  there  was  con- 
tinual sound  and  motion,  now  the  slow,  long  grind 
of  a  wagon  loaded  with  sheaves,  now  the  quick  jolt 
of  the  empty  telegas  *  as  they  passed  each  other. 


*  Russian  cart,  consisting  of  a  flat  frame-work  of  bark,  between 
four  wheels. 


KATIA.  39 

or  the  rapid  steps  of  the  drivers,  whose  white 
smocks  we  could  see  fluttering  as  they  hurried 
along.  The  thick  dust  neither  blew  away  nor  fell, 
it  remained  suspended  above  the  hedges,  a  hazy 
background  for  the  clear  green  leaves  of  the  gar- 
den trees.  Farther  off,  about  the  barn,  resounded 
more  voices,  more  grinding  wheels;  and  I  could  see 
the  yellow  sheaves,  brought  in  the  carts  to  the  en- 
closure, being  tossed  off  into  the  air,  and  heaped 
up,  until  at  length  I  could  distinguish  the  stacks, 
rising  like  oval  sharp-roofed  buildings,  and  the 
silhouettes  of  the  peasants  swarming  about  them. 
Presently,  there  were  new  telegas  moving  in  the 
dusty  fields,  new  piles  of  yellow  sheaves,  and  in 
the  distance  the  wheels,  the  voices,  the  chanted 
songs. 

The  dust  and  heat  invaded  everything,  except 
our  little  favorite  nook  of  the  garden.  Yet  on 
all  sides,  in  the  dust  and  heat,  the  blaze  of  the 
burning  sun,  the  throng  of  laborers  chattered, 
made  merry,  and  kept  in  continual  movement. 
As  for  me,  I  looked  at  Macha,  sleeping  so  sweetly 
on  our  bench,  her  face  shaded  by  her  cambric 


4O  KATIA. 

handkerchief;  the  black  juicy  cherries  on  the 
plate ;  our  light,  dazzlingly  clean  dresses,  the 
carafe  of  clear  water,  where  the  sun's  rays  were 
playing  in  a  little  rainbow ;  and  I  felt  a  sense  of 
rare  comfort.  "What  must  I  do?"  thought  I; 
"  perhaps  it  is  wicked  to  be  so  happy  ?  But  can 
we  diffuse  our  happiness  around  us  ?  How,  and 
to  whom,  can  we  wholly  consecrate  ourselves  — 
ourselves  and  this  very  happiness  ?" 

The  sun  had  disappeared  behind  the  tops  of 
the  old  birch-trees  bordering  the  path,  the  dust 
had  subsided;  the  distances  of  the  landscape  stood 
out,  clear  and  luminous,  under  the  slanting  rays ; 
the  clouds  had  dispersed  entirely,  long  ago ;  on  the 
other  side  of  the  trees  I  could  see,  near  the  barn, 
the  pointed  tops  rise  upon  three  new  stacks  of 
grain,  and  the  peasants  descend  from  them ;  final- 
ly, for  the  last  time  that  day,  the  telegas  passed 
rapidly,  making  the  air  resound  with  their  noisy 
jolts ;  the  women  were  going  homewards,  singing, 
their  rakes  on  their  shoulders,  and  their  binding 
withes  hanging  at  their  girdles ;  and  still  Sergius 
Mikailovitch  did  not  come,  although  long  ago  I 


KATIA.  41 

had  seen  him  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  Sud- 
denly he  appeared  at  the  end  of  the  path,  from  a 
direction  where  I  had  not  been  looking  for  him  at 
all,  for  he  had  to  skirt  the  ravine  to  reach  it. 
Raising  his  hat  he  came  towards  me,  his  face  light- 
ed up  with  sudden  joy.  At  the  sight  of  Macha, 
still  asleep,  his  eyes  twinkled,  he  bit  his  lip,  and 
began  tip-toeing  elaborately.  I  saw  at  once  that 
he  was  in  one  of  those  fits  of  causeless  gayety 
which  I  liked  so  much  in  him,  and  which,  between 
ourselves,  we  called  " le  transport  sauvage."  At 
such  times  he  was  like  a  boy  just  let  out  of  school, 
his  whole  self  from  head  to  foot  instinct  with 
delight  and  happiness. 

"  How  do  you  do,  little  violet,  how  goes  the 
day  with  you  ?  Well  ?"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice, 
coming  near  and  pressing  my  hand.  ...  "  And 
with  me?  oh,  charmingly,  also  !"  he  replied  to  my 
similar  question,  "  to-day  I  am  really  not  over 
thirteen  years  old ;  I  would  like  to  ride  a  stick- 
horse,  —  I  want  to  climb  the  trees  !" 

"  Le  transport  sauvage  /"  I  commented,  look- 


42  KATIA. 

ing  into  his  laughing  eyes,  and  feeling  this  trans- 
port sauvage  take  possession  of  me  also. 

"  Yes,"  he  murmured,  at  the  same  time  rais- 
ing his  eyebrows  with  an  enquiring  glance,  and 
keeping  back  a  smile.  "  But  why  are  you  so 
furious  with  our  poor  Macha  Karlovna  ?" 

In  fact  I  then  became  conscious  that,  while  I 
was  gazing  up  at  him  and  continuing  to  brandish 
my  linden  bough,  I  had  whipped  off  Macha's 
handkerchief,  and  was  sweeping  her  face  with  the 
leaves.  I  could  not  help  laughing. 

"  And  she  will  say  she  has  not  been  asleep,"  I 
said,  whispering,  as  if  afraid  of  waking  her;  but  I 
did  not  do  it  altogether  for  that,  —  it  was  so  de- 
lightful to  whisper  when  I  spoke  to  him ! 

He  moved  his  lips  in  almost  dumb  show,  imi- 
tating me,  and  as  if  he,  on  his  side,  was  saying 
something  that  no  one  else  must  hear.  Then, 
spying  the  plate  of  cherries,  he  pretended  to  seize 
it  and  carry  it  off  by  stealth,  running  away 
towards  Sonia,  and  dropping  on  the  grass  under 
the  linden-tree  in  the  midst  of  her  accumulation 
of  dolls.  Sonia  was  about  to  fly  into  a  little  rage, 


KATIA.  43 

but  he  made  peace  with  her  by  proposing  a  new 
game,  the  point  of  which  lay  in  seeing  which  of 
the  two  could  devour  the  most  cherries. 

"  Shall  I  order  some  more  ?"  I  asked,  "  or 
shall  we  go  gather  them  for  ourselves  ?" 

He  picked  up  the  plate,  piled  Sonia's  dolls  in 
it,  and  we  all  three  started  for  the  cherry  orchard. 
Sonia,  shouting  with  laughter,  trotted  after  him, 
tugging  at  his  coat  to  make  him  give  her  back 
her  family.  He  did  so ;  and  turning  gravely  ta 
me: 

"  Come,  how  can  you  convince  me  that  you 
are  not  a  violet  ?"  he  said,  still  speaking  very  low, 
though  there  was  now  no  one  for  him  to  be  afraid 
of  waking;  "as  soon  as  I  came  near  you,  after 
having  been  through  so  much  dust  and  heat  and 
fatigue,  I  seemed  to  perceive  the  fragrance  of  a 
violet,  not,  it  is  true,  that  violet  with  the  powerful 
perfume,  but  the  little  early  one,  you  know, 
which  steals  out  first,  still  modest,  to  breathe 
at  once  the  expiring  snow  and  the  springing 
grass.  ..." 

"  But,  tell  me,  is  the  harvest  coming  on  well  ?'* 


44  KATIA. 

I  put  in  hastily,  to  cover  the  happy  confusion  his 
words  caused  me. 

"  Wonderfully !  what  excellent  people  these 
all  are,. —  the  more  one  knows  them,  the  more 
one  loves  them." 

"  Oh,  yes !  —  A  little  while  ago,  before  you 
came,  I  sat  watching  their  work,  and  it  really 
went  to  my  conscience  to  see  them  toiling  so 
faithfully,  while  I  was  just  idly  taking  my  ease, 

and " 

"  Do  not  play  with  these  sentiments,  Katia," 
he  interrupted,  with  a  serious  manner,  giving  me 
at  the  same  time  a  caressing  glance,  "  there  is 
holy  work  there.  May  God  guard  you  from 
posing  in  such  matters  !" 

"  But  it  was  only  to  you  that  I  said  that !" 
"  I  know  it.  —  Well,  and  our  cherries  ?" 
The  cherry  orchard  was  locked,  not  a  single 
gardener  was  to  be  found  (he  had  sent  them  all 
to  the  harvest  fields).     Sonia  ran  off  to  look  for 
the  key ;  but,  without  waiting  for  her  return,  he 
•climbed  up  at  a  corner  by  catching  hold  of  the 


KATIA.  45 

meshes  of  the  net,  and  jumped  down  inside  the 
wall. 

"  Will  you  give  me  the  plate  ?"  he  asked  me, 
from  within. 

"No,  I  want  to  gather  some,  myself;  I 
will  go  get  the  key,  I  doubt  if  Sonia  can  find 
it." 

But  at  that  moment  a  sudden  fancy  seized  me, 
to  find  out  what  he  was  doing  there,  how  he 
looked,  in  short  his  demeanor  when  he  supposed 
no  one  could  see  him.  Or  rather,  honestly,  per- 
haps just  then  I  did  not  feel  like  losing  sight 
of  him  for  a  single  instant.  So  on  my  tip-toes, 
through  the  nettles,  I  made  a  circuit  around  the 
little  orchard  and  gained  the  opposite  side,  where 
the  enclosure  was  lower ;  there,  stepping  up  on  an 
empty  tub,  I  found  the  wall  but  breast-high,  and 
leaned  over.  I  made  a  survey  of  everything" 
within ;  looked  at  the  crooked  old  trees,  the  large 
serrated  leaves,  the  black,  vertical  clusters  of  juicy 
fruit;  and,  slipping  my  head  under  the  net,  I  could 
observe  Sergius  Mikailovitch  through  the  twisted 
boughs  of  an  old  cherry-tree.  He  was  certainly 


46  KATIA. 

confident  that  I  had  gone,  and  that  no  one  could 
see  him. 

With  bared  head  and  closed  eyes  he  was  sit- 
ting on  the  mouldering  trunk  of  an  old  tree,  ab- 
sently rolling  between  his  ringers  a  bit  of  cherry- 
gum.  All  at  once,  he  opened  his  eyes,  and 
murmured  something,  with  a  smile.  The  word 
and  smile  were  so  little  in  keeping  with  what  I 
knew  of  him  that  I  was  ashamed  of  having 
watched  him.  It  really  seemed  to  me  that  the 
word  was :  Katia  !  "  That  cannot  be  !"  I  said  to 
myself.  "Dear  Katia!"  he  repeated  lower,  and 
still  more  tenderly.  And  this  time  I  heard  the 
two  words  distinctly.  My  heart  began  to  beat  so 
fast,  I  was  so  filled  with  joyful  emotion,  I  even  felt, 
as  it  were,  such  a  kind  of  shock,  that  I  had  to  hold 
on  to  the  wall  with  both  hands,  to  keep  myself 
from  falling,  and  so  betraying  myself.  He  heard 
my  movement,  and  glanced  behind  him,  startled ; 
then  suddenly  casting  down  his  eyes  he  blushed, 
reddening  like  a  child.  He  made  an  effort  to  speak 
to  me,  but  could  not,  and  this  failure  made  his 
face  grow  deeper  and  deeper  scarlet.  Yet  he 


KATIA.  47 

smiled  as  he  looked  at  me.  I  smiled  at  him  too. 
He  looked  all  alive  with  happiness ;  this  was  no 
longer,  then,  —  oh,  no,  this  was  no  longer  an  old 
uncle  lavishing  cares  and  caresses  upon  me  ;  I  had 
there  before  my  eyes  a  man  on  my  own  level, 
loving  me  and  fearing  me ;  a  man  whom  I  myself 
feared,  and  loved.  We  did  not  speak,  we  only 
looked  at  each  other.  But  suddenly  he  bent  his 
brows  darkly;  smile  and  glow  went  out  of  his  eyes 
simultaneously,  and  his  bearing  became  again  cold 
and  fatherly,  as  if  we  had  been  doing  something 
wrong,  as  if  he  had  regained  control  of  himself 
and  was  counselling  me  to  do  the  same. 

"  Get  down  from  there,  you  will  hurt  your- 
self," said  he.  "  And  arrange  your  hair ;  you 
ought  to  see  what  you  look  like  !" 

"  Why  does  he  dissemble  so  ?  Why  does  he 
wish  to  wound  me?"  I  thought,  indignantly.  And 
at  the  moment  came  an  irresistible  desire  to  move 
him  again,  and  to  try  my  power  over  him. 

"  No,  I  want  to  gather  some  cherries,  myself," 
I  said;  and  grasping  a  neighboring  bough  with 
my  hands,  I  swung  myself  over  the  wall.  He  had 


48  KATIA. 

no  time  to  catch  me,  I  dropped  to  the  ground  in 
the  middle  of  the  little  space. 

"What  folly  is  this?"  he  exclaimed,  flushing 
again,  and  endeavoring  to  conceal  his  alarm  under 
a  semblance  of  anger.  "  You  might  injure  your- 
self! And  how  are  you  going  to  get  out?" 

He  was  much  more  perturbed  than  when  he  first 
caught  sight  of  me  ;  but  now  this  agitation  no 
longer  gladdened  me,  on  the  contrary  it  made  me 
afraid.  I  was  attacked  by  it  in  my  turn  ;  I  blushed, 
moved  away,  no  longer  knowing  what  to  say  to 
him,  and  began  to  pick  cherries  very  fast,  without 
having  anything  to  put  them  in.  I  reproached 
myself,  I  repented,  I  was  frightened,  it  seemed  to 
me  that  by  this  step  I  had  ruined  myself  forever  in 
his  eyes.  We  both  remained  speechless,  and  the 
silence  weighed  heavily  upon  both.  Sonia,  run- 
ning back  with  the  key,  freed  us  from  our  embar- 
rassing situation.  However,  we  still  persistently 
avoided  speaking  to  each  other,  both  preferring 
to  address  little  Sonia  instead.  When  we  were 
again  with  Macha,  (who  vowed  she  had  not  been 
asleep,  and  had  heard  everything  that  had  gone 


KATIA.  49 

on,)  my  calmness  returned,  while  he,  on  his  side, 
made  another  effort  to  resume  his  tone  of  paternal 
kindness.  But  the  effort  was  not  successful,  and 
did  not  deceive  me  at  all.  A  certain  conversation 
that  had  taken  place  two  days  before  still  lived  in 
my  memory. 

Macha  had  announced  her  opinion  that  a  man 
loves  more  easily  than  a  woman,  and  also  more 
easily  expresses  his  love.  She  added : 

"  A  man  can  say  that  he  loves,  and  a  woman 
cannot." 

"  Now  it  seems  to  me  that  a  man  neither  ought 
nor  can  say  that  he  loves,"  was  his  reply. 

I  asked  him  why. 

"  Because  it  would  always  be  a  lie.  What  is 
this  discovery  that  a  man  loves  ?  As  if  he  had 
only  to  pronounce  the  word,  and  there  must  im- 
mediately spring  from  it  something  extraordinary, 
some  phenomenon  or  other,  exploding  all  at  once! 
It  seems  to  me  that  those  people  who  say  to  you 
solemnly :  '  I  love  you,'  either  deceive  themselves, 
or,  which  is  worse,  deceive  others." 

"  Then  you  think  a  woman  is  to  know  that 

4 


5O  KATIA. 

she  is  loved,  without  being  told  ?"  asked 
Macha. 

"  That  I  do  not  know ;  every  man  has  his  own 
fashion  of  speech.  But  such  feelings  make  them- 
selves understood.  When  I  read  a  novel,  I  al- 
ways try  to  imagine  the  embarrassed  air  of  Lieu- 
tenant Crelski  or  Alfred, as  he  declares:  'Eleonore, 
I  love  thee !'  which  speech  he  fancies  is  going 
to  produce  something  astounding,  all  of  a  sud- 
den, —  while  in  reality  it  causes  nothing  at  all, 
neither  in  her  nor  in  him :  features,  look,  every- 
thing, remain  precisely  the  same  !" 

He  spoke  jestingly,  but  I  thought  I  detected 
an1  undertone  of  serious  meaning,  which  might 
have  some  reference  to  me  ;  and  Macha  never  al- 
lowed even  playful  aspersions  upon  her  heroes  of 
romance. 

"  Always  paradoxes  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Come 
now,  be  honest,  have  you  yourself  never  said  to  a 
woman  that  you  loved  her  ?" 

"  Never  have  I  said  so,  never  have  I  bowed  a 
knee,"  he  replied  laughing,  "  and  never  will  I  !" 

"  Yes,  he  need  not  tell  me  that  he  loves  me !" 


KATIA.  5 1 

I  thought,  now  vividly  recalling  this  conversation. 
4<  He  does  love  me,  and  I  know  it.  And  all  his 
efforts  to  seem  indifferent  cannot  take  away  this 
conviction !" 

During  the  whole  evening  he  said  very  little 
to  me,  but  in  every  word,  in  every  look  and  mo- 
tion, I  felt  love,  and  no  longer  had  any  doubts. 
The  only  thing  that  vexed  and  troubled  me  was 
that  he  should  still  judge  it  necessary  to  conceal 
this  feeling,  and  to  feign  coldness,  when  already 
all  was  so  clear,  and  we  might  have  been  so  easily 
and  so  frankly  happy  almost  beyond  the  verge  of 
possibility.  Then,  too,  I  was  tormenting  myself 
as  though  I  had  committed  a  crime,  for  having 
jumped  down  into  the  cherry  orchard  to  join  him, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  he  must  have  ceased  to  esteem 
me,  and  must  feel  resentment  against  me. 

After  tea,  I  went  to  the  piano,  and  he  fol- 
lowed. 

"  Play  something,  Katia,  I  have  not  heard  you 
for  a  long  time,"  he  said,  joining  me  in  the 
drawing-room. 

"  I   wished  .  .  .  Sergius   Mikailovitch  !"     And 


52  KATIA. 

suddenly  I  looked  right  into  his  eyes.  "  You  are 
not  angry  with  me  ?" 

"Why  should  I  be?" 

"  Because  I  did  not  obey  you  this  afternoon," 
said  I,  blushing. 

He  understood  me,  shook  his  head,  and  smiled. 
And  this  smile  said  that  perhaps  he  would  will- 
ingly have  scolded  me  a  little,  but  had  no  longer 
the  strength  to  do  so. 

"That  is  done  with,  then,  isn't  it?  And  we 
are  good  friends  again  ?"  I  asked,  seating  myself 
at  the  piano. 

"  I  think  so,  indeed  !" 

The  large,  lofty  apartment  was  lighted,  only  by 
the  two  candles  upon  the  piano,  and  the  greater 
portion  of  it  was  in  semi-darkness ;  through  the 
open  windows  we  beheld  the  luminous  stillness 
of  the  summer  night.  The  most  perfect  calm 
reigned,  only  broken  at  intervals  by  Madia's  foot- 
fall in  the  adjoining  room,  which  was  not  yet 
lighted,  or  by  an  occasional  restless  snort  or  stamp 
from  our  visitor's  horse,  which  was  tied  under  one 
of  the  casements.  Sergius  Mikailovitch  was  seated 


KATIA.  53 

behind  me,  so  that  I  could  not  see  him,  but  in  the 
imperfect  darkness  of  the  room,  in  the  soft  notes 
that  filled  it,  in  the  very  depths  of  my  being,  I 
seemed  to  feel  his  presence.  Every  look,  every 
movement,  though  I  could  not  distinguish  them, 
seemed  to  enter  and  echo  in  my  heart.  I  was 
playing  Mozart's  Caprice-sonata,  which  he  had 
brought  me,  and  which  I  had  learned  before 
him  and  for  him.  I  was  not  thinking  at  all  of 
what  I  played,  but  I  found  that  I  was  playing 
well  and  thought  he  was  pleased.  I  shared  his 
enjoyment,  and  without  seeing  him,  I  knew  that 
from  his  place  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  me.  By  a 
quite  involuntary  movement,  while  my  fingers  con- 
tinued to  run  over  the  keys,  unconscious  of  what 
they  were  doing,  I  turned  and  looked  at  him ;  his 
head  stood  out  in  dark  relief  against  the  luminous 
background  of  the  night.  He  was  sitting  with  his 
brow  resting  on  his  hand,  watching  me  atten- 
tively with  sparkling  eyes.  As  mine  met  them,  I 
smiled,  and  stopped  playing.  He  smiled  also,  and 
made  a  motion  with  his  head  towards  my  notes, 
as  if  reproaching  me  and  begging  me  to  keep  on. 


54  KATIA. 

Just  then  the  moon,  midway  in  her  course,  soared 
in  full  splendor  from  a  light  cloud,  pouring  into 
the  room  waves  of  •  silvery  radiance  which  over- 
came the  feeble  gleam  of  our  wax  candles,  and 
swept  in  a  sea  of  glory  over  the  inlaid  floor. 
Macha  said  that  what  I  had  done  was  like  nothing 
at  all,  that  I  had  stopped  at  the  very  loveliest 
part,  and  that,  besides,  I  had  played  miserably  ; 
he,  on  the  contrary,  insisted  that  I  had  never  suc- 
ceeded better  than  this  evening,  and  began  pacing 
about  restlessly,  from  the  dim  drawing-room  into 
the  hall,  from  the  hall  back  again  into  the  drawing- 
room,  and  every  time  he  passed  he  looked  at 
me  and  smiled.  I  smiled  too  though  without  any 
reason ;  I  wanted  to  laugh,  so  happy  was  I  at 
what  had  taken  place  that  day,  at  that  moment 
even.  While  the  door  hid  him  from  me  for  an 
instant  I  pounced  upon  Macha  and  began  to  kiss 
her  in  my  pet  place  on  her  soft  throat  under  her 
chin,  but  when  he  reappeared  I  was  perfectly  grave, 
although  it  was  hard  work  to  keep  from  laughing. 
"What  has  happened  to  her,  to-day?"  Macha 
said. 


KATIA.  55 

He  made  no  answer,  but  began  to  tease  and 
make  laughing  conjectures.  He  knew  well  enough 
what  had  happened  to  me  ! 

"  Just  see  what  a  night !"  he  said  presently, 
from  the  door  of  the  drawing-room,  opening  on 
the  garden  balcony. 

We  went  and  stood  by  him,  and  indeed  I  never 
remember  such  a  night.  The  full  moon  shone 
down  upon  us  from  above  the  house  with  a  glory 
I  have  never  seen  in  her  since ;  the  long  shadows 
of  the  roof,  of  the  slender  columns  and  tent- 
shaped  awning  of  the  terrace  stretched  out  in 
oblique  foreshortening,  over  the  gravel  walk  and 
part  of  the  large  oval  of  turf.  The  rest  lay  in 
brilliant  light,  glistening  with  dew-drops  turned 
by  the  moon's  rays  to  liquid  silver.  A  wide  path, 
bordered  with  flowers,  was  diagonally  cut  into  at 
one  edge  by  the  shadows  of  tall  dahlias  and  their 
supporting  stakes,  and  then  ran  on,  an  unbroken 
band  of  white  light  and  gleaming  pebbles  until  it 
was  lost  in  the  mist  of  distance.  The  glass  roof 
of  the  orangery  sparkled  through  the  trees,  and  a 
soft  vapor  stealing  up  the  sides  of  the  ravine  grew 


56  KATIA. 

denser  every  moment.  The  tufts  of  lilac,  now 
partially  faded,  were  pierced  through  and 
through  by  the  light;  every  slender  foot-stalk 
was  visible,  and  the  tiny  flowers,  freshened  by  the 
dew,  could  easily  be  distinguished  from  each 
other.  In  the  paths  light  and  shadow  were  so 
blended  that  one  would  no  longer  have  said 
there  were  trees  and  paths,  but  transparent  edifices 
shaken  with  soft  vibrations.  On  the  right  of  the 
house  all  was  obscure,  indistinct,  almost  a  horror 
of  darkness.  But  out  of  it  sprang,  more  resplen- 
dent from  the  black  environment,  the  fantastic 
head  of  a  poplar  which,  by  some  strange  freak, 
ended  abruptly  close  above  the  house  in  an 
aureole  of  clear  light,  instead  of  rising  to  lose  it- 
self in  the  distant  depths  of  dark  blue  sky. 

"  Let  us  go  to  walk,"  said  I. 

Macha  consented,  but  added  that  I  must  put 
on  my  galoshes. 

"  It  is  not  necessary,"  I  said ;  "  Sergius  Mi- 
kailovitch  will  give  me  .his  arm." 

As  if  that  could  keep  me  from  getting  my  feet 
wet !  But  at  that  moment,  to  each  of  us  three, 


KATIA.  57 

such  absurdity  was  admissible,  and  caused  no 
astonishment.  He  had  never  given  me  his  arm, 
and  now  I  took  it  of  my  own  accord,  and  he  did 
not  seem  surprised.  We  all  three  descended  to 
the  terrace.  The  whole  universe,  the  sky,  the  gar- 
den, the  air  we  breathed,  no  longer  appeared  to 
me  what  I  had  always  known. 

As  I  looked  ahead  of  me  in  the  path  we  were 
pursuing,  I  began  to  fancy  that  one  could  not  go 
beyond,  that  there  the  possible  world  ended,  and 
that  all  there  would  abide  forever  in  its  present 
loveliness. 

However,  as  we  went  on,  this  enchanted  wall, 
this  barrier  built  of  pure  beauty,  receded  before 
us  and  yielded  us  passage,  and  I  found  myself 
in  the  midst  of  familiar  objects,  garden,  trees, 
paths,  dry  leaves.  These  were  certainly  real  paths 
that  we  were  pursuing,  where  we  crossed  alternate 
spaces  of  light  and  spheres  of  darkness,  where 
the  dry  leaves  rustled  beneath  our  feet,  and  the 
dewy  sprays  softly  touched  my  cheek  as  we 
passed.  It  was  really  he,  who  walked  by  my 
side  with  slow,  steady  steps  and  with  distant  for- 


5  8  KATIA. 

mality,  allowed  my  arm  to  rest  upon  his  own.  It 
was  the  real  moon,  high  in  the  heavens,  whose 
light  came  down  to  us  through  the  motionless 
branches. 

Once  I  looked  at  him.  There  was  only  a 
single  linden  in  the  part  of  the  path  we  were  then 
following,  and  I  could  see  his  face  clearly.  He 
was  so  handsome ;  he  looked  so  happy.  .  .  . 

He  was  saying :  "  Are  you  not  afraid  ?"  But 
the  words  I  heard,  were :  "  I  love  thee,  dear 
child  !  I  love  thee  !  I  love  thee  !"  His  look  said 
it,  and  his  arm  said  it;  the  light,  the  shadow, 
the  air,  and  all  things  repeated  it. 

We  went  through  the  whole  garden,  Macha 
walked  near  us,  taking  short  steps,  and  panting 
a  little,  she  was  so  tired.  She  said  it  was  time  to 
go  in,  and  I  was  so  sorry  for  the  poor  creature. 
"Why  does  not  she  feel  like  us?"  I  thought. 
"Why  is  not  everybody  always  young  and  happy? 
How  full  this  night  is  of  youth  and  happiness,  — 
and  we  too !" 

We  returned  to  the  house,  but  it  was  a  long 
time  before  Sergius  Mika'ilovitch  went  away. 


KATIA.  59 

Macha  forgot  to  remind  us  that  it  was  late ;  we 
talked  of  all  sorts  of  things,  perhaps  trivial  enough, 
sitting  side  by  side  without  the  least  suspicion 
that  it  was  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The 
cocks  had  crowed  for  the  third  time,  before  he 
went.  He  took  leave  of  us  as  usual,  not  saying 
anything  particular.  But  I  could  not  doubt  that 
from  this  day  he  was  mine,  and  I  could  no  longer 
lose  him.  Now  that  I  recognized  that  I  loved  him, 
I  told  Macha  all.  She  was  delighted  and  touched, 
but  the  poor  woman  got  no  sleep  that  night ;  and 
as  for  me,  after  walking  a  long,  long  time  up  and 
down  the  terrace,  I  went  to  the  garden  again, 
seeking  to  recall  every  word,  every  incident,  as  I 
wandered  through  the  paths  where  we  had  so 
lately  passed  together.  I  did  not  go  to  bed,  that 
night,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  saw  the 
sun  rise  and  knew  what  the  dawn  of  day  is. 
Never  again  have  I  seen  such  a  night  and  such 
a  morning.  But  I  still  kept  asking  myself  why 
he  did  not  tell-  me  frankly  that  he  loved  me. 
"  Why,"  thought  I,  "  does  he  invent  such  or  such 
difficulties,  why  does  he  consider  himself  old, 


60  KATIA. 

when  everything  is  so  simple  and  so  beautiful  ? 
Why  lose  thus  a  precious  time  which  perhaps  will 
never  return  ?  Let  him  say  that  he  loves,  let  him 
say  it  in  words,  let  him  take  my  hand  in  his,  bend 
down  his  head  and  say:  "  I  love."  Let  his  face 
flush,  and  his  eyes  fall  before  me,  and  then  I  will 
tell  him  all.  Or,  rather,  I  will  tell  him  nothing,  I 
will  only  hold  him  fast  in  my  arms  and  let  my 
tears  flow.  But  if  I  am  mistaken  ?  —  if  he  does 
not  love  me  ?  This  thought  suddenly  crossed  my 
mind. 

I  was  terrified  by  my  own  feeling.  Heaven 
knows  where  it  might  have  led  me ;  already  the 
memory  of  his  confusion  and  my  own  when  I 
suddenly  dropped  down  into  the  cherry  orchard 
beside  him,  weighed  upon  me,  oppressed  my 
heart.  The  tears  filled  my  eyes,  and  I  began  to 
pray.  Then  a  thought,  a  strange  thought,  came 
to  me,  which  brought  me  a  great  quietness,  and 
rekindled  my  hope.  This  was,  the  resolution  to 
commence  my  devotions,  and  to  choose  my  birth- 
day as  my  betrothal  day. 

How  and  why  ?     How  could  it  come  to  pass  ? 


KATIA.  6 1 

That  I  knew  nothing  about,  —  but  from  this  mo- 
ment I  believed  that  it  would  be  so.  In  the 
meantime,  broad  day  had  come,  and  every  one 
was  rising  as  I  returned  to  my  chamber. 


62  KATIA. 


CHAPTER  TV. 

*  IT  was  the  Careme  de  rAssomption*  and. 
consequently  no  one  was  surprised  at  my  com- 
mencing a  season  of  devotion. 

During  this  whole  week  Sergius  Mikai'lovitch 
<3id  not  once  come  to  see  us,  and  far  from  being 
surprised,  alarmed,  or  angry  with  him,  I  was  con- 
tent, and  did  not  expect  him  before  my  birthday. 
Throughout  this  week  I  rose  very  early  every  day, 
and  while  the  horses  were  being  harnessed  I 
walked  in  the  garden,  alone,  meditating  upon  the 
past,  and  thinking  what  I  must  do  in  order  that 
the  evening  should  find  me  satisfied  with  my  day, 
and  proud  of  having  committed  no  faults. 

When  the  horses  were  ready,  I  entered  the 
droschky,  accompanied  by  Macha  or  a  maid-ser- 
vant, and  drove  about  three  versts  to  church.  In 
entering  the  church,  I  never  failed  to  remember 

*This  expression,  peculiar  to  Russia,  corresponds  to  what  in 
Catholic  countries  is  called :  Making  a  preparatory  retreat. 


KATIA.  63 

that  we  pray  there  for  all  those  "  who  enter  thia 
place  in  the  fear  of  God,"  and  I  strove  to  rise 
to  the  level  of  this  thought,  above  all  when  my 
feet  first  touched  the  two  grass-grown  steps  of  the 
porch.  At  this  hour  there  were  not  usually  in 
trie  church  more  than  ten  or  a  dozen  persons, 
peasants  and  drorovies,  preparing  to  make  their 
devotions ;  I  returned  their  salutations  with 
marked  humility,  and  went  myself,  (which  I 
regarded  as  an  act  of  superior  merit,)  to  the 
drawer  where  the  wax  tapers  were  kept,  received 
a  few  from  the  hand  of  the  old  soldier  who  per- 
formed th$  office  of  staroste,*  and  placed  them  be- 
fore the  images.  Through  the  door  of  the  sanc- 
tuary I  could  see  the  altar-cloth  Mamma  had 
embroidered,  and  above  the  iconstase  **  two  an- 
gels spangled  with  stars,  which  I  had  considered 
magnificent  when  I  was  a  little  girl ;  and  a  dove 
surrounded  by  a  gilded  aureole  which,  at  that 
same  period,  often  used  to  absorb  my  attention. 
Behind  the  choir  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  em- 

*  In  the  Greek  Church  the  staroste  acts  as  church-warden,  collec- 
tor of  alms,  etc. 

**  Screen,  upon  which  are  the  images. 


64  KATIA. 

bossed  fonts  near  which  I  had  so  often  held  the 
children  of  our  drorovies,  and  where  I  myself  had 
received  baptism.  The  old  priest  appeared,  wear- 
ing a  chasuble  cut  from  cloth  which  had  been  the 
pall  of  my  father's  coffin,  and  he  intoned  the  service 
in  the  same  voice  which,  as  far  back  as  I  could 
remember,  had  chanted  the  offices  of  the  Church 
at  our  house,  at  Sonia's  baptism,  at  my  father's 
funeral  service,  at  my  mother's  burial.  In  the 
choir  I  heard  the  familiar  cracked  voice  of  the 
precentor ;  I  saw,  as  I  had  always  seen  her,  a  cer- 
tain old  woman,  almost  bent  double,  who  came  to 
every  service,  leaned  her  back  against- the  wall, 
and,  holding  her  faded  handkerchief  in  her  tightly 
clasped  hands,  gazed  with  eyes  full  of  tears  at  one 
of  the  images  in  the  choir,  mumbling  I  knew  not 
what  prayers  with  her  toothless  mouth.  And  all 
these  objects,  all  these  beings,  —  it  was  not  mere 
curiosity  or  reminiscence  which  brought  them  so 
near  to  me ;  all  seemed  in  my  eyes  great  and  holy, 
all  were  full  of  profound  meaning. 

I  lent  an  attentive  ear  to  every  word  of  the 
prayers  I  heard  read,  I  endeavored  to  bring  my 


KATIA.  65 

feelings  into  accord  with  them,  and  if  I  did  not 
comprehend  them,  I  mentally  besought  God  to 
enlighten  me,  or  substituted  a  petition  of  my  own 
for  that  which  I  had  not  understood.  When  the 
penitential  prayers  were  read,  I  recalled  my  past, 
and  this  past  of  my  innocent  childhood  appeared 
to  me  so  black  in  comparison  with  the  state  of  se- 
renity in  which  my  soul  was,  at  this  time,  that  I 
wept  over  myself,  terrified ;  yet  I  felt  that  all 
was  forgiven  me,  and  that  even  if  I  had  had  many 
more  faults  to  reproach  myself  with,  repentance 
would  only  have  been  all  the  sweeter  to  me. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  service,  at  the  mo- 
ment when  the  priest  pronounced  the  words : 
"  May  the  blessing  of  the  Lord  our  God  be  upon 
you,"  I  seemed  to  feel  within  me,  instantaneously 
communicated  to  all  my  being,  a  sense  of  even,  as 
it  were,  physical  comfort,  as  if  a  current  of  light 
and  warmth  had  suddenly  poured  into  my  very 
heart. 

When  the  service  was  over,  if  the  priest  ap- 
proached me  to  ask  if  he  should  come  to  our 
house  to  celebrate  vespers,  and  what  hour  would 

5 


66  KATIA. 

suit  me,  I  thanked  him  with  emotion  for  his  offer, 
but  told  him  that  I  would  come  myself  to  the 
church  either  on  foot  or  in  the  carriage. 

"  So  you  will  yourself  take  that  trouble  ?"  he 
asked. 

I  could  not  answer,  for  fear  of  sinning  from 
pride.  Unless  Macha  was  with  me,  I  sent  the  car- 
riage home  from  the  church,  and  returned  on 
foot,  alone,  saluting  humbly  all  whom  I  met, 
seeking  occasion  to  assist  them,  to  advise  them, 
to  sacrifice  myself  for  them  in  some  way ;  helping 
to  lift  a  load  or  carry  a  child,  or  stepping  aside 
into  the  mud  to  yield  a  passage. 

One  evening  I  heard  our  intendant,  in  making 
his  report  to  Macha,  say  that  a  peasant,  Simon, 
had  come  to  beg  for  some  wood  to  make  a  coffin 
for  his  daughter,  and  for  a  silver  rouble  to  pay 
for  the  mortuary  service,  and  that  his  request  had 
been  complied  with. 

"  Are  they  so  poor  ?"  I  enquired. 

"  Very  poor,  my  lady ;  they  live  without 
salt,"  *  replied  the  intendant. 

*  Strong  Russian  phrase,  to  express  great  poverty. 


KATIA.  67 

I  was  distressed,  yet,  at  the  same  time,  in  a 
manner  rejoiced  to  hear  this.  Making  Macha  be- 
lieve that  I  was  going  for  a  walk,  I  ran  up-stairs, 
took  all  my  money  (it  was  very  little,  but  it  was 
all  I  had,)  and,  having  made  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
hurried  off,  across  the  terrace  and  garden,  to 
Simon's  cottage  in  the  village.  It  was  at  the  end 
of  the  little  cluster  of  houses,  and,  unseen  by  any 
one,  I  approached  the  window,  laid  the  money 
upon  the  sill  and  tapped  gently.  The  door 
opened,  some  one  came  out  of  the  cottage  and 
called  to  me ;  but  I,  cold  and  trembling  with  fear 
like  a  criminal,  ran  away  home.  Macha  asked 
where  I  had  been,  what  was  the  matter  with  me  ? 
But  I  did  not  even  understand  what  she  was 
saying,  and  made  no  reply. 

Everything  at  this  moment  appeared  to  me  so 
small,  and  of  so  little  consequence !  I  shut  my- 
self up  in  my  chamber,  and  walked  up  and  down 
there  alone,  for  a  long  time,  not  feeling  disposed 
to  do  anything,  to  think  anything,  and  incapable 
of  analyzing  my  own  sensations.  I  imagined 
the  delight  of  the  whole  family,  and  what  they 


68  KATIA. 

would  all  say  about  the  person  who  had  placed 
the  money  upon  their  window,  and  I  began  to 
regret  that  I  had  not  given  it  to  them  myself. 
I  wondered  what  Sergius  Mikailovitch  would 
have  said,  if  he  had  known  what  I  had  done, 
and  I  was  delighted  to  think  that  he  never  would 
know  it.  And  I  was  so  seized  with  joy,  so 
filled  with  a  sense  of  the  imperfection  in  my- 
self and  in  all,  yet  so  inclined  to  view  with  gentle- 
ness all  these  others,  as  well  as  myself,  that  the 
thought  of  death  offered  itself  to  me  as  a  vision  of 
bliss.  I  smiled,  I  prayed,  I  wept,  and  at  this 
instant  I  suddenly  loved  every  creature  in  the 
world,  and  I  loved  myself  with  a  strange  ardor. 
Searching  my  prayer-book,  I  read  many  passages 
from  the  Gospel,  and  all  that  I  read  in  this  volume 
became  more  and  more  intelligible ;  the  story  of 
that  divine  life,  appeared  to  me  more  touching 
and  simple,  while  the  depth  of  feeling  and  of 
thought  revealed  to  me,  in  this  reading,  became 
more  terrible  and  impenetrable.  And  how  clear 
and  easy  everything  seemed,  when,  on  laying 
aside  the  book,  I  looked  at  my  life  and  meditated 


KATIA.  69 

upon  it.  It  seemed  impossible  not  to  live  aright, 
and  very  simple  to  love  every  one  and  to  be  loved 
by  every  one.  Besides,  every  one  was  good  and 
gentle  to  me,  even  Sonia,  whom  I  continued  to 
teach,  and  who  had  become  totally  different,  who 
really  made  an  effort  to  understand,  and  to  satisfy 
me,  and  give  me  no  annoyance.  What  I  was 
trying  to  be  to  others,  others  were  to  me. 

Passing  then  to  my  enemies,  from  whom  I 
must  obtain  forgiveness  before  the  great  day,  I 
could  not  think  of  any  except  one  young  lady  in 
the  neighborhood,  whom  I  had  laughed  at  before 
some  company,  about  a  year  before,  and  who  had 
ceased  to  visit  at  our  house.  I  wrote  a  letter  to 
her,  acknowledging  my  fault,  and  begging  her 
pardon.  She  responded  by  fully  granting  it,  and 
asking  mine  in  return.  I  shed  tears  of  pleasure 
while  reading  these  frank  lines,  which  seemed  to 
me  full  of  deep  and  touching  sentiment.  My  maid 
wept  when  I  asked  her  pardon  also.  Why  were 
they  all  so  good  to  me  ?  How  had  I  deserved  so 
much  affection  ?  I  asked  myself.  Involuntarily 
I  began  to  think  about  Sergius  Mikailovitch.  I 


7<D  KATIA. 

could  not  help  it,  and  besides  I  did  not  consider 
it  a  light  or  frivolous  diversion.  True  I  was  not 
thinking  about  him  at  all  as  I  had  done  on  that 
night  when,  for  the  first  time,  I  found  out  that  I 
loved  him ;  I  was  thinking  of  him  just  as  of  my- 
self, linking  him,  in  spite  of  myself,  with  every 
plan  and  idea  of  my  future.  The  dominating 
influence  which  his  presence  had  exercised  over 
me,  faded  away  completely  in  my  imagination. 
I  felt  myself  to-day  his  equal,  and,  from  the  sum- 
mit of  the  ideal  edifice  whence  I  was  looking 
down,  I  had  full  comprehension  of  him.  What- 
ever in  him  had  previously  appeared  strange  to 
me  was  now  intelligible.  To-day,  for  the  first 
time,  I  could  appreciate  the  thought  he  had  ex- 
pressed to  me,  that  happiness  consists  in  living  for 
others,  and  to-day  I  felt  in  perfect  unison  with 
him.  It  appeared  to  me  that  we  two  were  to  en- 
joy a  calm  and  illimitable  happiness.  No  thought 
entered  my  mind  of  journeys  to  foreign  lands, 
guests  at  home,  excitement,  stir,  and  gayety; 
it  was  to  be  a  peaceful  existence,  a  home  life  in 
the  country,  perpetual  abnegation  of  one's  own 


KATIA.  /I 

will,  perpetual  love  for  each  other,  perpetual  and 
absolute  thankfulness  to  a  loving  and  helpful 
Providence. 

I  concluded  my  devotions,  as  I  had  purposed, 
upon  the  anniversary  of  my  birth.  My  heart  was 
so  overflowing  with  happiness,  that  day,  when  I 
returned  from  church,  that  there  resulted  all  kinds 
of  dread  of  life,  fear  of  every  feeling,  terrors  of 
whatever  might  disturb  this  happiness.  But  we 
had  scarcely  descended  from  the  droschky  to  the 
steps  before  the  house,  when  I  heard  the  well- 
known  sound  of  his  cabriolet  upon  the  bridge,  and 
in  a  moment  Sergius  Mikailovitch  was  with  us.  He 
offered  me  his  congratulations,  and  we  went  into 
the  drawing-room  together.  Never  since  I  had 
known  him,  had  I  found  myself  so  calm,  so  in- 
dependent in  his  presence,  as  upon  this  morning. 
I  felt  that  I  bore  within  myself  an  entire  new 
world,  which  he  did  not  comprehend  and  which 
was  superior  to  him.  I  did  not  feel  the  least 
agitation  in  his  society.  He  may,  however,  have 
understood  what  was  passing  within  me,  for  his 
gentleness  to  me  was  peculiarly  delicate,  almost, 


72  KATIA. 

as  it  were,  a  religious  deference.  I  was  going 
towards  the  piano,  but  he  locked  it  and  put  the 
key  in  his  pocket,  saying : 

"  Do  not  spoil  the  state  of  mind  I  see  you  are 
in ;  there  is  sounding,  at  this  moment,  in  the 
depths  of  your  soul,  a  music  which  no  harmony 
of  this  earth  can  approach  !" 

I  was  grateful  to  him  for  this  thought,  yet,  at 
the  same  time,  it  was  a  little  displeasing  to  me 
that  he  should  thus  understand,  too  easily,  and 
too  clearly,  what  was  to  remain  secret  from  all,  in 
the  kingdom  of  my  soul. 

After  dinner  he  said  that  he  had  come  to 
bring  me  his  congratulations  and  to  say  farewell, 
as  he  was  going  to  Moscow  on  the  following  day. 
He  was  looking  at  Macha  when  he  said  this,  but 
he  gave  me  a  quick  side-glance  as  if  he  was  afraid 
of  noticing  some  emotion  upon  my  countenance. 
But  I  showed  neither  surprise  nor  agitation,  and 
did  not  even  ask  if  his  absence  would  be  long. 
I  knew  that  he  said  so,  but  I  knew  that  he  was 
not  going.  How?  I  cannot,  now,  explain  it  in 
the  least ;  but  on  this  memorable  day  it  appeared 


KATIA.  73 

to  me  that  I  knew  all  that  had  been,  and  all  that 
would  be.     I  was  in  a  mood  akin  to  one  of  those 

happy  dreams,  where  one  has  a  kind  of  luminous 
i 

vision  of  both  the  future  and  the  past. 

He  had  intended  going  immediately  after  din- 
ner, but  Macha  had  left  the  table,  to  take  her 
siesta,  and  he  was  obliged  to  wait  until  she  awoke 
in  order  to  take  leave  of  her. 

The  sun  was  shining  full  into  the  drawing- 
room,  and  we  went  out  upon  the  terrace.  We 
were  scarcely  seated,  when  I  entered  upon  the 
conversation  which  was  to  decide  the  fate  of  my 
love.  I  began  to  speak,  neither  sooner  nor  later, 
but  at  the  first  moment  that  found  us  face  to  face 
alone,  when  nothing  else  had  been  said,  when 
nothing  had  stolen  into  the  tone  and  general 
character  of  the  conversation  which  might  hinder 
or  embarrass  what  I  wished  to  say.  I  cannot 
myself  comprehend  whence  came  the  calmness, 
the  resolution,  the  precision  of  my  words.  One 
would  have  said  that  it  was  not  I  who  was  talking, 
and  that  something — I  know  not  what  —  inde- 
pendent of  my  own  volition,  was  making  me  speak. 


74  KATIA. 

He  was  seated  opposite  to  me,  and,  having  drawn 
down  to  him  a  branch  of  lilac,  began  to  pluck  off 
its  leaves.  When  I  opened  my  lips,  he  let  go  the 
little  branch,  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hand. 
This  might  be  the  attitude  of  a  man  who  was 
perfectly  calm,  or  that  of  a  man  yielding  to  great 
agitation. 

"  Why  are  you  going  away  ?"  I  began,  in  a 
resolute  tone;  then  stopped,  and  looked  him 
straight  in  the  eyes. 

He  did  not  reply  at  once. 

"  Business !"  he  articulated,  looking  down  on 
the  ground. 

I  saw  that  it  was  difficult  for  him  to  dissemble 
in  answering  a  question  I  put  so  frankly. 

"  Listen,"  said  I,  "  you  know  what  this  day  is 
to  me.  In  many  ways  it  is  a  great  day.  If  I 
question  you,  it  is  not  only  to  show  my  interest 
in  you  (you  know  I  am  used  to  you,  and  fond  of 
you),  I  question  you  because  I  must  know.  Why 
are  you  going  away  ?" 

"  It  is  excessively  difficult  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  to  tell  you  why  I  am  going  away.  During 


KATIA.  75 

this  week  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  of  you  and 
of  myself,  and  I  have  decided  that  it  is  necessary 
for  me  to  go.  You  understand.  .  .  .  why  ?  And 
if  you  love  me,  do  not  question  me !" 

He  passed  his  hand  across  his  brow,  and,  cov- 
ering his  eyes  again  with  the  same  hand,  he 
added : 

"  This  is  painful  to  me.  .  .  .  But  you  under- 
stand, Katia !" 

My  heart  began  to  beat  hard  in  my  breast. 

"I  cannot  understand,"  said  I,  " I cannot  da 
it ;  "  but  you,  speak  to  me,  in  the  name  of  God, 
in  the  name  of  this  day,  speak  to  me,  I  can  hear 
everything  calmly." 

He  changed  his  attitude,  looked  at  me,  and 
caught  the  branch  of  lilac  again. 

"Well,"  he  resumed,  after  a  moment's  silence, 
in  a  voice  which  vainly  struggled  to  appear  firm, 
"  though  it  may  be  absurd,  and  almost  impossible 
to  translate  into  words,  and  though  it  will  cost  me 
much,  I  will  try  to  explain  to  you ;  "  —  and  as  he 
uttered  the  words  there  were  lines  on  his  brow,  as 
if  he  was  suffering  physical  pain. 


76  KATIA. 

"  Go  on,"  I  said. 

"  You  must  suppose  there  is  a  gentleman,  — 

A.  we  will  call  him,  —  old,  weary  of  existence ; 
and  a  lady,  —  Madame  B.  we  will  say,  —  young, 
happy,  and  as  yet  knowing  neither  the  world  nor 
life.     In  consequence  of  family  relations  A.  loved 

B.  like  a  daughter,  with  no  fear  of  coming  to  love 
her  differently." 

He  was  silent,  and  I  did  not  interrupt  him. 

"  But,"  he  suddenly  pursued,  in  a  brief,  reso- 
lute voice,  without  looking  at  me,  "  he  had  forgot- 
ten that  B.  was  young,  that  for  her  life  was  still 
but  a  game,  that  it  might  easily  happen  that  he 
might  love  her,  and  that  B.  might  amuse  herself 
with  him.  He  deceived  himself,  and  one  fine  day 
he  found  that  another  feeling,  weighty  to  bear  as 
remorse,  had  stolen  into  his  soul,  and  he  was 
startled.  He  dreaded  to  see  their  old  friendly 
relations  thus  compromised,  and  he  decided  to  go 
away  before  these  had  time  to  change  their  nature." 

As  he  spoke,  he  again  with  seeming  careless- 
ness passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  and  covered 
them. 


KATIA.  77 

"  And  why  did  he  fear  to  love  differently  ?"  I 
said,  presently,  in  a  steady  voice,  controlling  my 
emotion ;  but  no  doubt  this  seemed  to  him  mere 
playful  banter,  for  he  answered  with  the  air  of  a 
deeply  wounded  man : 

"  You  are  young ;  I  am  no  longer  so.  Play- 
ing may  please  you,  for  me  more  is  necessary. 
Only,  do  not  play  with  me,  for  I  assure  you  it  will 
do  me  no  good, —  and  you  might  find  it  weigh  on 
your  conscience !  That  is  what  A.  said,"  he 
added,  —  "  but  all  this  is  nonsense ;  you  under- 
stand, now,  why  I  am  going;  let  us  say  no  more 
about  it,  I  beg  you.  .  .'" 

"  Yes,  yes,  let  us  speak  of  it !"  said  I,  and 
tears  made  my  voice  tremble.  "  Did  she  love 
him  or  not  ?" 

He  did  not  reply. 

"  And  if  he  did  not  love  her,"  I  continued, 
"why  did  he  play  with  her  as  if  she  were  a  child?" 

"Yes,  yes,  A.  had  been  culpable,"  he  re- 
plied interrupting  me  ;  "  but  all  that  is  over,  and 
they  have  parted  from  each  other  ....  good 
friends !" 


78  KATIA. 

"  But  this  is  frightful !  And  is  there  no  other 
end  ?"  I  exclaimed,  terrified  at  what  I  was  say- 
ing. 

"Yes,  there  is  one."  And  he  uncovered  his 
agitated  face,  and  looked  at  me  steadily.  "  There 
are  even  two  other  ends,  quite  different  But,  for 
the  love  of  God,  do  not  interrupt  me,  and  listen 
to  me  quietly.  Some  say,"  he  went  on,  rising, 
and  giving  a  forced,  sad  smile,  "  some  say  that  A. 
went  mad,  that  he  loved  B.  with  an  insane  love, 
and  that  he  told  her  so  ...  But  that  she  only 
laughed  at  him.  For  her  the  matter  had  been  but 
a  jest,  a  trifle ;  for  him,  —  the  one  thing  in  his 
life !" 

I  shivered,  and  would  have  broken  in,  to  tell 
him  that  he  should  not  dare  to  speak  for  me ;  but 
he  stopped  me,  and,  laying  his  hand  upon  mine : 

"  Wait !"  he  said,  in  a  shaking  voice :  "  others 
say  that  she  was  sorry  for  him,  that  she  fancied  — 
poor  little  girl,  knowing  nothing  of  the  world  — 
that  she  might  actually  love  him,  and  that  she 
consented  to  be  his  wife.  And  he  —  madman  — 
he  believed,  — believed  that  all  his  life  was  begin- 


KATIA.  79 

ning  again ;  but  she  herself  became  conscious 
that  she  was  deceiving  him  and  that  he  was  de- 
ceiving her  .  .  .  Let  us  talk  no  more  about  it !"  he 
concluded,  indeed  evidently  incapable  of  farther 
speech,  and  he  silently  sat  down  again  opposite  me. 

He  had  said,  "  Let  us  talk  no  more  about  it," 
but  it  was  manifest  that  with  all  the  strength  of  his 
soul  he  was  waiting  for  a  word  from  me.  Indeed 
I  tried  to  speak,  and  could  not ;  something  stop- 
ped my  breath.  I  looked  at  him,  he  was  pale, 
and  his  lower  lip  was  trembling.  I  was  very  sorry 
for  him.  I  made  another  effort,  and  suddenly 
succeeding  in  breaking  the  silence  which  paralyzed 
me.  I  said,  in  a  slow,  concentrated  voice,  fearing 
every  moment  it  would  fail  me  : 

"There  is  a  third  end  to  the  story  "(I  stop- 
ped, but  he  remained  silent),  "  and  this  other  end 
is  that  he  did  not  love  her,  that  he  hurt  her,  hurt 
her  cruelly,  that  he  believed  he  was  right  to  do  it, 
that  he  ...  that  he  went  away,  and  that,  more- 
over, moreover,  he  was  proud  of  it.  It  is  not  on 
my  side,  but  on  yours,  that  the  trifling  has  been, 
from  the  first  day  I  loved  you  ;  I  loved  you,"  I 


80  KATIA. 

repeated,  and  at  the  word  "  loved  "  my  voice  in- 
voluntarily changed  from  its  tone  of  slow  concen- 
tration to  a  kind  of  wild  cry  which  appalled 
myself. 

He  was  standing  up  before  me,  very  pale,  his 
lip  trembled  more  and  more,  and  I  saw  two  heavy 
tears  making  their  way  down  his  cheeks. 

"  This  is  dreadful !"  —  I  could  barely  get  out 
the  words,  choked  with  anger  and  unshed  tears. — 
"And  why?  ..."  I  jumped  up  hastily,  to  run 
away. 

But  he  sprang  towards  me.  In  a  moment  his 
head  was  upon  my  knees,  my  trembling  hands 
were  pressed  again  and  again  to  his  lips,  and  I 
felt  hot  drops  falling  upon  them. 

"  My  God,  if  1  had  known !"  he  was  murmur- 
ing. 

"  Why  ?  why  ?"  I  repeated  mechanically,  my 
soul  in  the  grasp  of  that  transport  which  seizes, 
possesses,  and  flies  forever,  that  rapture  which  re- 
turns no  more. 

Five  minutes  afterwards,  Sonia  went  dashing 
up-stairs  to  Macha,  and  all  over  the  house,  crying 


KATIA.  8 1 

out    that    Katia   was   going    to    marry    Sergius 
Mikai'lovitch. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THERE  was  no  reason  to  delay  our  marriage, 
and  neither  he  nor  I  desired  to  do  so.  It  is  true 
that  Macha  longed  to  go  to  Moscow  to  order  my 
trousseau,  and  Sergius'  mother  considered  it  in- 
cumbent upon  him  before  marrying  to  buy  a  new 
carriage  and  more  furniture  and  have  the  whole 
house  renovated,  but  we  both  insisted  that  this 
could  all  be  done  quite  as  well  afterwards,  and  that 
we  would  be  married  at  the  end  of  the  fortnight 
succeeding  my  birthday,  without  trousseau,  pa- 
rade, guests,  groomsmen,  supper,  champagne,  or 
any  of  the  traditional  attributes  of  a  wedding. 
He  told  me  that  his  mother  was  unwilling  to 
have  the  great  event  take  place  without  the 
music,  the  avalanche  of  trunks,  the  refurnished 


82  KATIA. 

house,  which,  at  a  cost  of  thirty  thousand  rou- 
bles, had  accompanied  her  own  marriage;  and 
how,  without  his  knowledge,  she  had  ransacked 
for  treasures  all  the  chests  in  the  lumber  rooms, 
and  held  sober  consultations  with  Mariouchka, 
the  housekeeper,  on  the  subject  of  certain  new 
carpets  and  curtains,  quite  indispensable  to  our 
happiness.  On  our  side,  Macha  was  similarly  em- 
ployed, with  my  maid  Kouzminicha.  She  could 
not  be  laughed  out  of  this ;  being  firmly  per- 
suaded that  when  Sergius  and  I  ought  to  have 
been  discussing  our  future  arrangements,  we 
wasted  our  time  in  soft  speeches  (as  was  perhaps 
natural  in  our  position  ) ;  while  of  course,  in  fact, 
the  very  substance  of  our  future  happiness  was 
dependent  upon  the  cut  and  embroidery  of  my 
dresses,  and  the  straight  hems  on  our  table-cloths 
and  napkins.  Between  Pokrovski  and  Nikolski, 
every  day  and  several  times  a  day,  mysterious 
communications  were  exchanged  as  to  the  pro- 
gressing preparations ;  and  though  apparently 
Macha  and  the  bridegroom's  mother  were  upon 
the  tenderest  terms,  one  felt  sure  of  the  constant 


KATIA.  83 

passage  of  shafts  of  keen  and  hostile  diplomacy 
between  the  two  powers. 

Tatiana  Semenovna,  his  mother,  with  whom  I 
now  became  more  fully  acquainted,  was  a  woman 
of  the  old  school,  starched  and  stiff,  and  a  severe 
mistress.  Sergius  loved  her,  not  only  from  duty 
as  a  son,  but  also  with  the  sentiment  of  a  man 
who  saw  in  her  the  best,  the  most  intelligent, 
the  tenderest,  and  the  most  amiable  woman  in  the 
world. '  Tatiana  had  always  been  cordial  and  kind 
to  us,  particularly  to  me,  and  she  was  delighted 
that  her  son  should  marry  ;  but  as  soon  as  I  be- 
came betrothed  to  him  it  appeared  to  me  that 
she  wished  to  make  me  feel  that  he  might  have 
made  a  better  match,  and  that  I  ought  never  to 
forget  the  fact.  I  perfectly  understood  her,  and 
was  entirely  of  her  opinion. 

During  these  last  two  weeks,  Sergius  and  I 
saw  each  other  every  day ;  he  always  dined  with 
us  and  remained  until  midnight ;  but,  though  he 
often  told  me  —  and  I  knew  he  was  telling  the 
truth — that  he  could  not  now  live  without  me, 
yet  he  never  spent  the  whole  day  with  me,  and 


84  KATIA. 

even,  after  a  fashion,  continued  to  attend  to  his 
business  matters.  Our  outward  relations,  up  to 
the  very  time  of  our  marriage,  were  exactly  what 
they  had  been  ;  we  still  said  "you  "  to  each  other, 
he  did  not  even  kiss  my  hand,  and  not  only  did  he 
not  seek,  but  he  actually  avoided  occasions  of  find- 
ing himself  alone  with  me,  as  if  he  feared  giving 
himself  up  too  much  to  the  great  and  dangerous 
love  he  bore  in  his  heart. 

All  these  days  the  weather  was  bad,  and  we 
spent  most  of  them  in  the  drawing-room;  our 
conversations  being  held  in  the  corner  between 
the  piano  and  the  window. 

"  Do  you  know  that  there  is  one  thing  I  have 
been  wishing  to  say  to  you  for  a  long  time  ?"  he 
said,  late  one  evening,  when  we  were  alone  in  our 
corner.  "  I  have  been  thinking  of  it,  all  the  time 
you  have  been  at  the  piano." 

"  Tell  me  nothing,  I  know  all,"  I  replied. 

"  Well  then,  we  will  say  no  more  about 
it." 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed,  tell  me ;  what  is  it  ?"  I 
asked. 


KATIA.  85 

"It  is  this.  You  remember  me  telling  you 
that  story  about  A.  and  B.  ?" 

"  As  if  I  could  help  remembering  that  foolish 
story  !  How  lucky  that  it  has  ended  so.  .  ." 

"  A  little  more,  and  I  would  have  destroyed 
my  happiness  with  my  own  hand ;  you  saved  me ; 
but  the  thing  is,  that  I  was  not  truthful  with  you, 
then ;  it  has  been  on  my  conscience,  and  now  I 
wish  to  tell  you  all." 

"  Ah,  please  do  not !" 

"Do  not  be  afraid,"  he  said,  smiling,  "it  is 
only  that  I  must  justify  myself.  When  I  began 
to  talk  to  you,  I  wished  to  debate  the  ques- 
tion." 

"  Why  debate  ?"  said  I,  "  that  is  never  neces- 
sary." 

He  looked  at  me  in  silence,  then  went  on. 

"  In  regard  to  the  end  of  that  story,  —  what  I 
said  to  you,  then,  was  not  nonsense ;  clearly  there 
was  something  to  fear,  and  I  was  right  to  fear  it. 
To  receive  everything  from  you,  and  give  you  so 
little !  You  are  yet  a  child,  yet  an  unexpanded 
flower,  you  love  for  the  first  time,  while  I.  .  ." 


86  KATIA. 

"  Oh,  yes,  tell  me  the  truth  !"  I  exclaimed. 
But  all  at  once  I  was  afraid  of  his  answer.  "  No, 
do  not  tell  me  !"  I  added. 

"  Whether  I  have  loved  before  ?  is  that  it  ?" 
he  said,  instantly  divining  my  thought.  "  It  is 
easy  to  tell  you  that.  No,  I  have  not  loved. 
Never  has  such  a  feeling  .  .  .  So,  do  you  not  see 
how  imperative  it  was  for  me  to  reflect,  before 
telling  you  that  I  loved  you  ?  What  am  I  giving 
you  ?  Love,  it  is  true.  .  ." 

"  Is  that  so  little  ?"  I  asked,  looking  into  his 
face. 

"  Yes,  that  is  little,  my  darling,  little  for  you. 
You  have  beauty  and  youth.  Often,  at  night,  I 
cannot  sleep  for  happiness ;  I  am  incessantly 
thinking  how  we  are  going  to  live  together.  I 
have  already  lived  much,  yet  it  seems  to  me  that 
I  have  but  just  now  come  to  the  knowledge  of 
what  makes  happiness.  A  sweet,  tranquil  life,  in 
our  retired  corner,  with  the  possibility  of  doing 
good  to  those  to  whom  it  is  so  easy  to  do  it,  and 
who,  nevertheless,  are  so  little  used  to  it ;  then 
work,  —  work,  whence,  you  know,  some  profit  al- 


KATIA.  S/ 

ways  springs ;  recreation,  also,  nature,  books, 
music,  the  affection  of  some  congenial  friend ; 
there  is  my  happiness,  a  happiness  higher  than  I 
ever  dreamed  of.  And  beyond  all  that,  a  loved 
one  like  you,  perhaps  a  family ;  in  one  word,  all 
that  a  man  can  desire  in  this  world  !" 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  For  me,  whose  youth  is  done,  yes ;  but  for 
you.  .  ."  he  continued.  "  You  have  not  yet  lived; 
perhaps  you  might  have  wished  to  pursue  your 
happiness  in  some  other  path,  and  in  some  other 
path  perhaps  you  might  have  found  it.  At  pres- 
ent it  seems  to  you  that  what  I  speak  of  is  indeed 
happiness,  because  you  love  me.  .  ." 

"  No,  I  have  never  desired  nor  liked  any  but 
this  sweet  home  life.  And  you  have  just  said 
precisely  what  I  think,  myself." 

He  smiled. 

"  It  seems  so  to  you,  my  darling.  But  that  is 
little  for  you.  You  have  beauty  and  youth,"  he 
repeated,  thoughtfully. 

I  was  beginning  to  feel  provoked  at  seeing 
that  he  would  not  believe  me,  and  that  in  a  certain 


88  KATIA. 

way  he  was  reproaching  me  with  my  beauty  and 
my  youth. 

"Come  now,  why  do  you  love  me  ?"  I  asked, 
rather  hotly:  "  for  my  youth  or  for  myself?" 

"I  do  not  know,  but  I  do  love,"  he  replied, 
fixing  upon  me  an  observant  look,  full  of  alluring 
sweetness. 

I  made  no  response,  but  involuntarily  met  his 
eyes.  All  at  once,  a  strange  thing  happened  to 
me.  I  ceased  to  see  what  was  around  me,  his 
face  itself  disappeared  from  before  me,  and  I  could 
distinguish  nothing  but  the  fire  of  the  eyes  ex- 
actly opposite  mine ;  then  it  seemed  to  me  that 
these  eyes  themselves  were  piercing  into  me,  then 
all  became  confused,  I  could  no  longer  see  any- 
thing at  all,  and  I  was  obliged  to  half  close  my 
eyelids  to  free  myself  from  the  mingled  sensation 
of  joy  and  terror  produced  by  this  look. 

Towards  evening  of  the  day  previous  to  that 
appointed  for  our  marriage,  the  weather  cleared. 
After  the  heavy  continuous  rains  of  the  summer 
we  had  the  first  brilliant  autumnal  sunset.  The 
sky  was  pure,  rigid,  and  pale.  I  went  to  sleep, 


KATIA.  89 

happy  in  the  thought  that  the  next  day  would  be 
bright,  for  our  wedding.  I  woke  in  the  morning 
with  the  sun  upon  me,  and  with  the  thought  that 
here  already  was  the  day.  ...  as  if  it  astonished 
and  frightened  me.  I  went  to  the  garden.  The 
sun  had  just  risen,  and  was  shining_  through  the 
linden-trees,  whose  yellow  leaves  were  floating 
down  and  strewing  the  paths.  There  was  not  one 
cloud  to  be  seen  in  the  cold  serene  sky. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  it  is  to-day  ?"  I  asked  my- 
self, not  venturing  to  believe  in  my  own  happi- 
ness. "  Is  it  possible  that  to-morrow  I  shall  not 
wake  here,  that  I  shall  open  my  eyes  in  that 
house  of  Nikolski,  with  its  columns,  in  a  place 
now  all  strange  to  me  !  Is  it  possible  that  hence- 
forward I  shall  not  be  expecting  him,  shall  not 
be  going  to  meet  him,  shall  not  talk  about  him 
any  more  in  the  evenings,  with  Macha  ?  Shall 
I  no  longer  sit  at  the  piano  in  our  drawing- 
room  at  Pokrovski,  with  him  beside  me?  Shall  I 
no  longer  see  him  go  away,  and  tremble  with 
fear  for  him  because  the  night  is  dark?"  But 
I  remembered  that  he  had  told  me,  the  night 


9O  KAT1A. 

before,  that  it  was  his  last  visit;  and,  besides, 
Macha  had  made  me  try  on  my  wedding-dress. 
So  that,  by  moments,  I  would  believe,  and  then 
doubt  again.  Was  it  really  true  that  this  very 
day  I  was  to  begin  to  live  with  a  mother-in-law, 
without  Nadine,  without  old  Gregory,  without 
Macha  ?  That  at  night  I  would  not  embrace  my 
old  nurse,  and  hear  her  say,  making  the  sign  of 
the  cross,  as  she  always  did ;  "  Good-night,  my 
young  lady  ?"  That  I  would  no  longer  hear 
Sonia's  lessons,  or  play  with  her,  or  rap  on  the 
partition  wall  in  the  morning  and  hear  her  gay 
laugh  ?  Was  it  possible  that  it  was  really  to-day 
that  I  was  to  become,  in  a  measure,  an  alien  to 
myself,  and  that  a  new  life,  realizing  my  hopes 
and  my  wishes,  was  opening  before  me  ?  And 
was  it  possible  that  this  new  life,  just  beginning, 
was  to  be  for  ever  ?  I  waited  impatiently  for  Ser- 
gius,  so  hard  it  was  for  me  to  remain  alone  with 
these  thoughts.  He  came  early,  and  it  was  only 
when  he  was  actually  there  that  I  was  sure  that 
to-day  I  was  really  going  to  be  his  wife,  and  no 
longer  felt  frightened  at  the  thought. 


KATIA.  91 

Before  dinner  we  went  to  church,  to  hear  the 
service  for  the  dead,  in  commemoration  of  my 
father. 

"Oh,  if  he  were  still  in  this  world!"  thought  I, 
as  I  was  returning  home,  leaning  silently  on  the 
arm  of  the  man  who  had  been  his  dearest  friend. 
While  the  prayers  were  being  read,  kneeling  with 
my  brow  pressed  upon  the  cold  flag- stones  of  the 
chapel  floor,  my  father  had  been  so  vividly 
brought  before  my  mind,  that  I  could  not  help 
believing  that  he  comprehended  me  and  blessed 
my  choice,  and  I  imagined  that,  at  the  moment, 
his  soul  was  hovering  above  us,  and  that  his  bene- 
diction rested  upon  me.  These  remembrances, 
these  hopes,  my  happiness  and  my  regrets, 
blended  within  me  into  a  feeling  at  once  solemn 
and  sweet,  which  seemed,  as  it  were,  to  be  set  in 
a  frame  of  clear  quiet  air,  stillness,  bare  fields, 
pale  heavens  whose  brilliant  but  enfeebled  rays 
vainly  strove  to  bring  the  color  to  my  cheek.  I 
persuaded  myself  that  my  companion  was  under- 
standing and  sharing  my  feelings.  He  walked 
with  slow  steps,  in  silence,  and  his  face,  which  I 


92  KATIA. 

glanced  into  from  time  to  time,  bore  the  impress 
of  that  intense  state  of  the  soul,  which  is  neither 
sadness  nor  joy,  and  which  perfectly  harmonized 
with  surrounding  nature  and  with  my  heart. 

All  at  once,  he  turned  towards  me,  and  I  saw 
that  he  had  something  to  say  to  me.  What  if  he 
were  not  going  to  speak  of  what  was  in  my 
thoughts  ?  But  without  even  naming  him  he 
spoke  of  my  father,  and  added  : 

"  One  day  he  happened  to  say  to  me,  laugh- 
ingly, '  You  will  marry  my  little  Katia !'  " 

"  How  glad  he  would  have  been,  to-day,"  I 
responded,  pressing  closer  to  the  arm  on  which  I 
leaned. 

"  Yes,  you  were  then  but  a  child,"  he  went 
on,  looking  deep  into  my  eyes ;  "I  kissed  those 
eyes  and  loved  them  simply  because  they  were  so 
like  his,  and  I  was  far  from  thinking  that  one  day 
they  would  be  so  dear  to  me  in  themselves." 

We  were  still  walking  slowly  along  the  field- 
path,  scarcely  traceable  among  the  trodden  and 
scattered  stubble,  and  heard  no  sound  save  our 
own  footsteps  and  voices.  The  sun  poured  down 


KATIA.  95- 

floods  of  light  that  gave  no  warmth.  When  we 
spoke,  our  voices  seemed  to  resound  and  hang 
suspended  above  our  heads  in  the  motionless  at- 
mosphere. We  might  have  thought  we  two  were 
alone  upon  the  earth,  alone  beneath  that  blue 
vault  vibrating  with  cold  scintillations  from  the 
sun. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  house,  we  found  his 
mother  already  there,  with  the  few  guests  whom 
we  had  felt  obliged  to  invite,  and  I  was  not  again 
alone  with  him  until  we  had  left  the  church  and 
were  in  the  carriage  on  our  way  to  Nikolski. 

The  church  had  been  almost  empty.  At  one 
glance  I  had  seen  his  mother,  standing  near  the 
choir ;  Macha,  with  her  wet  cheeks  and  lilac  cap- 
ribbons  ;  and  two  or  three  drorovies,  who  were 
gazing  at  me  with  curious  eyes.  I  heard  the 
prayers,  I  repeated  them,  but  they  had  no  mean- 
ing for  me.  I  could  not  pray,  myself,  I  only  kept 
looking  stupidly  at  the  images,  the  wax  tapers, 
the  cross  embroidered  on  the  chasuble  the  priest 
had  on,  the  iconostase,  the  church  windows,  but 
did  not  seem  able  to  understand  anything  at  all ;  I 


94  KATIA. 

only  felt  that  something  very  extraordinary  was 
being  done  to  me.  When  the  priest  turned 
towards  us  with  the  cross,  when  he  gave  us  his 
congratulations,  and  said  that  he  had  baptized 
me  and  that  now  God  had  permitted  him  also  to 
marry  me ;  when  Macha  and  Sergius'  mother  em- 
braced us,  when  I  heard  Gregory's  voice  calling 
the  carriage,  I  was  astonished  and  frightened  at 
the  thought  that  all  was  finished,  though  no  mar- 
vellous change,  corresponding  with  the  sacrament 
which  had  just  been  performed  over  me,  had 
taken  place  in  my  soul.  We  kissed  each  other, 
and  this  kiss  appeared  to  me  so  odd,  so  out  of 
keeping  with  ourselves,  that  I  could  not  help 
thinking :  "  It  is  only  that?"  We  went  out  upon 
the  parvise,  the  noise  of  the  wheels  echoed  loudly 
within  the  arch  of  the  church  ;  I  felt  the  fresh  air 
upon  my  face,  and  was  conscious  that,  Sergius 
with  his  hat  under  his  arm,  had  assisted  me  into 
the  carriage.  Through  the  window  I  saw  that  the 
moon  was  shining  in  her  place  in  the  frosty  sky. 
He  took  his  seat  beside  me,  and  shut  the  door. 
Something,  at  this  moment,  seemed  to  strike 


KATIA.  95 

through  my  heart,  as  if  the  assurance  with  which 
he  did  'this  had  given  me  a  wound.  The  wheels 
glanced  against  a  stone,  then  began  to  revolve 
upon  the  smooth  road,  and  we  were  gone. 
Drawn  back  into  a  corner  of  the  carriage,  I 
watched  the  fields  flooded  with  light,  and  the  fly- 
ing road.  Nevertheless,  without  looking  at  him, 
I  was  feeling  that  there  he  was,  beside  me.  "  Here, 
then,  is  all  that  this  first  moment  from  which  I 
have  expected  so  much,  brings  me  ?"  I  thought, 
and  all  at  once  I  had  a  sense  of  humiliation  and 
offence  at  finding  myself  seated  thus  alone  with 
him  and  so  close  to  him.  I  turned  towards  him, 
intending  to  say  something,  no  matter  what.  But 
no  word  would  come  from  my  lips;  one  would 
have  said  that  no  trace  of  my  former  tenderness 
lingered  within  my  heart,  but  that  it  was  entirely 
replaced  by  this  impression  of  alarm  and  offence. 

"  Up  to  this  moment,  I  still  dared  not  believe 
that  this  might  be  !"  he  softly  responded  to  my 
glance. 

"  And  I  ...  I  am  afraid  ...  I  know  not 
why  !" 


96  KATIA. 

"  Afraid  of  me,  Katia  ?"  he  said,  taking  my 
hand,  and  bending  his  head  over  it. 

My  hand  rested  within  his,  lifeless  ;  my  heart 
stopped  beating. 

"  Yes,"  I  murmured. 

But,  at  the  same  moment,  my  heart  suddenly 
began  to  beat  again,  my  hand  trembled  and 
clasped  his,  warmth  returned  to  me  ;  my  eyes,  in 
the  dim  light,  sought  his  eyes,  and  I  felt,  all  at 
once,  that  I  was  no  longer  afraid  of  him ;  that  this 
terror  had  been  but  a  new  love,  yet  more  tender 
and  strong  than  the  old.  I  knew  that  I  was 
wholly  his,  and  that  I  was  happy  to  be  wholly  in 
his  power. 


KATIA.  97 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  days,  the  weeks,  two  entire  months  of 
lonely  country  life  slipped  away,  imperceptibly,  it 
appeared  to  us ;  but  the  sensations,  the  emotions, 
and  the  happiness  of  these  two  months  would 
have  sufficed  to  fill  a  whole  life.  My  dreams,  and 
his,  concerning  the  mode  of  organizing  our  joint 
existence  were  not  realized  exactly  as  we  had  an- 
ticipated. But,  nevertheless,  the  reality  was  not 
below  our  dreams.  This  was  not  the  life  of  strict 
industry,  full  of  duties,  abnegation,  and  sacrifices, 
which  I  had  pictured  to  myself  when  I  became 
his  betrothed  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  the  absorb- 
ing and  egotistical  sentiment  of  love,  joys  without 
reason  and  without  end,  oblivion  of  everything  in 
the  world.  He  would,  it  is  true,  sometimes  retire 
to  his  study  and  occupy  himself  with  something 
demanding  attention  ;  sometimes  he  went  to  the 
city  on  business,  or  overlooked  his  agricultural 


98  KATIA. 

matters ;  but  I  could  see  how  hard  it  was  for  him 
to  tear  himself  away  from  me.  Indeed,  he  him- 
self said  that  whenever  I  was  not  present,  things 
appeared  to  him  so  devoid  of  interest  that  the 
wonder  was  that  he  could  attend  to  them  at  all. 
It  was  precisely  the  same  on  my  side.  I  read, 
I  busied  myself  with  my  music,  with  Mamma, 
with  the  schools ;  but  I  only  did  so  because  all 
these  employments  were  in  some  way  connected 
with  him,  and  met  with  his  approbation,  and  the 
instant  the  thought  of  him  ceased  to  be  in  some 
manner,  direct  or  indirect,  associated  with  any- 
thing whatever  that  I  was  doing,  I  would  stop 
doing  it.  To  me,  he  was  the  only  person  in  the 
universe,  the  handsomest,  noblest  human  being 
in  the  wide  world ;  of  course,  therefore,  I  could 
live  for  nothing  but  him,  could  strive  for  noth- 
ing but  to  remain  in  his  eyes  what  he  con- 
sidered me.  For  he  honestly  considered  me  the 
first  and  highest  of  women,  gifted  with  every  ex- 
cellence and  charm  ;  and  my  one  aim  was  to  be 
in  reality  for  him  this  highest  and  most  complete 
of  all  existing  creatures. 


KATIA.  99 

Ours  was  one  of  those  old  country  homes, 
where  generation  after  generation  of  ancestors  had 
lived,  loved  each  other,  and  peacefully  passed 
away.  The  very  walls  seemed  to  breathe  out 
happy  household  memories,  and  no  sooner  had  I 
set  my  foot  upon  the  threshold,  than  these  all 
appeared  to  become  memories  of  my  own.  The 
arrangement  and  order  of  the  dwelling  were  old- 
fashioned,  carefully  kept  so  by  Tatiania  Semen- 
ovna.  No  one  could  have  said  that  anything  was 
handsome  or  elegant,  but  everything,  from  the 
attendance  to  the  furniture  and  the  food,  was 
proper,  solid,  regular,  and  seemed  to  inspire  re- 
spect. In  the  drawing-room,  tables,  chairs,  and 
divans  were  symmetrically  ranged,  the  walls  were 
hidden  by  family  portraits,  and  the  floor  was 
covered  with  ancient  rugs  and  immense  landscapes 
in  linen.  In  the  small  parlor  there  was  an  old 
grand  piano,  two  chiffoniers  of  different  shapes,  a 
divan,  and  one  or  two  tables  decorated  with 
wrought  copper.  My  private  room,  adorned  by 
Tatiana  Semenovna,  was  honored  with  all  the 
finest  pieces  of  furniture,  irrespective  of  varying 


100  KATIA. 

styles  and  dates,  and,  among  the  rest,  with  an  old 
mirror  with  doors,  which  at  first  I  hardly  dared  to 
raise  my  eyes  to,  but  which  afterwards  became  like 
a  dear  old  friend  to  me.  Tatiana's  voice  was  never 
heard,  but  the  household  went  on  with  the  regu- 
larity of  a  well- wound  clock,  although  there  were 
many  more  servants  than  were  necessary.  But  all 
these  servants,  wearing  their  soft  heelless  slippers 
(for  Tatiana  Semenovna  insisted  that  creaking 
soles  and  pounding  heels  were,  of  all  things  in  the 
world,  the  most  disagreeable),  all  these  servants 
appeared  proud  of  their  condition,  trembling  be- 
fore the  old  lady,  showing  to  my  husband  and 
me  a  protecting  good-will,  and  seeming  to  take 
special  satisfaction  in  the  discharge  of  their 
respective  duties.  Every  Saturday,  regularly,  the 
floors  were  scoured,  and  the  carpets  shaken ;  on 
the  first  day  of  every  month,  a  Te  Deuni  was 
chanted,  and  holy  water  sprinkled ;  while  upon 
every  recurring  fete-day  of  Tatiana  Semenovna 
and  her  son,  and  now  also  upon  mine  (which  took 
place  this  autumn,  for  the  first  time),  a  feast  was 
given  to  all  the  neighborhood.  And  all  this  was 


KATIA.  101 

performed  precisely  as  in  the  oldest  times  that  Ta- 
tiana  Semenovna  could  remember. 

My  husband  interfered  in  nothing  concerning 
the  management  of  the  house,  confining  himself 
to  the  control  of  the  estate,  and  the  affairs  of  the 
peasants,  which  fully  occupied  him. 

He  rose  very  early,  even  during  the  winter,  so 
that  he  was  always  gone  when  I  woke.  He  gen- 
erally returned  for  tea,  which  we  took  alone  to- 
gether; and  at  these  times,  having  finished  the 
troubles  and  annoyances  of  his  agricultural  mat- 
ters, he  would  often  fall  into  that  particularly 
joyous  light-hearted  state  of  mind,  which  we  used 
to  call  le  transport  sauvage.  Often,  when  I  asked 
him  to  tell  me  what  he  had  been  doing  all  the 
morning,  he  would  relate  such  perfectly  absurd 
adventures,  that  we  would  almost  die  of  laughing; 
sometimes  when  I  demanded  a  sober  account,  he 
would  give  it  to  me,  making  an  effort  to  restrain 
even  a  smile.  As  for  me,  I  watched  his  eyes,  or 
the  motion  of  his  lips,  and  did  not  understand  a 
word  he  said,  being  entirely  taken  up  with  the 
pleasure  of  looking  at  him  and  hearing  his  voice. 


IO2  KATIA. 

"  Come,  now,  what  was  I  saying  ?"  he  would 
ask ;  "  repeat  it  to  me  !" 

But  I  never  could  repeat  any  of  it. 

Tatiana  Semenovna  never  made  her  appear- 
ance until  dinner  time,  taking  her  tea  alone,  and 
only  sending  an  ambassador  to  wish  us  good- 
morning.  I  always  found  it  hard  not  to  burst  out 
laughing,  when  the  maid  entered,  took  her  stand 
before  us  with  her  hands  crossed  one  upon  the 
other,  and,  in  her  measured  tones  informed  us  that 
Tatiana  Semenovna  desired  to  know  whether  we 
had  slept  well,  and  whether  we  liked  the  little 
cakes  we  had  for  tea.  Until  dinner  time  we  sel- 
dom remained  together.  I  played,  or  read,  alone; 
he  wrote,  or  sometimes  went  out  again  ;  but  at 
four  o'clock  we  went  down  to  the  drawing-room 
for  dinner.  Mamma  came  out  of  her  chamber, 
and  then  the  poor  gentle-folk  and  pilgrims  who 
happened  to  be  lodging  in  the  house,  usually  two 
or  three  in  number  made  their  appearance.  Regu- 
larly every  day  my  husband,  following  the  ancient 
custom,  offered  his  arm  to  his  mother,  to  conduct 
her  to  the  dining-room,  and  she  requested  him  to 


KATIA.  103 

take  me  upon  his  other  arm.  Mamma  presided 
at  dinner,  and  the  conversation  was  of  a  serious, 
thoughtful  turn,  not  altogether  without  a  shade  of 
solemnity.  The  simple  every-day  talk  between 
my  husband  and  myself  was  the  only  agreeable 
diversion  in  the  grave  aspect  of  these  table  ses- 
sions. After  dinner,  Mamma  took  her  seat  in  a 
large  arm-chair  in  the  salon,  and  cut  open  the 
leaves  of  any  newly-arrived  books;  we  read  aloud, 
or  went  to  the  piano  in  the  small  drawing-room. 
We  read  a  great  deal  together  during  those  two 
months,  but  music  continued  to  be  our  supreme 
enjoyment,  for  every  day  it  seemed  to  strike 
some  new  chord  in  our  hearts,  whose  vibrations 
revealed  us  to  each  other  more  and  more  wholly. 
When  I  was  playing  his  favorite  airs  he  retired 
to  a  divan  at  some  distance,  where  I  could 
scarcely  see  him,  and  with  a  kind  of  modesty  of 
sentiment  tried  to  conceal  from  me  the  emotion 
my  music  produced ;  but,  often,  when  he  least 
expected  it,  I  rose  from  the  piano  and  ran  to  him, 
to  try  to  surprise  upon  his  countenance  the  traces 
of  this  deep  feeling  and  to  catch  the  almost  su- 


IO4  KATIA. 

pernatural  light  in  the  humid  eyes  which  he  vainly 
strove  to  conceal  from  me.  I  presided  over  our 
late  tea  in  the  large  drawing-room,  again  all  the 
family  were  gathered  round  the  table,  and  for  a 
long  time  this  formal  assembling  near  the  samovar, 
as  in  a  tribunal,  with  the  distribution  of  the  cups 
and  glasses,  discomposed  me  very  much.  It  al- 
ways seemed  to  me  that  I  was  not  yet  worthy  of 
these  honors,  that  I  was  too  young,  too  giddy,  to 
turn  the  faucet  of  that  stately  samovar,  set  the 
cups  on  Nikita's  tray  and  say :  "  For  Peter  Iva- 
novitch  ;  for  Maria  Minichna,"  and  ask  :  "  Is  it 
sweet  enough  ?"  And  afterwards  give  out  the 
lumps  of  sugar  for  the  white-haired  nurse  and  the 
other  old  servants.  "  Perfect,  perfect,"  my  hus- 
band would  often  tell  me;  "quite  a  grown-up 
person !"  and  then  I  would  feel  more  intimidated 
than  ever. 

After  tea  Mamma  played  patience,  or  she  and 
Maria  Minichna  had  a  game  of  cards  together; 
then  she  embraced  us  both  and  gave  us  her  bless- 
ing, and  we  withdrew  to  our  own  apartment. 
There,  however,  our  evening  tete-a-tete  was 


KATIA.  IO5 

usually  prolonged  until  midnight,  for  these  were 
our  pleasantest  hours  in  the  twenty-four.  He 
told  me  about  his  past  life,  we  made  plans,  oc- 
casionally we  philosophized,  all  the  time  talking 
in  a  low  tone  lest  we  might  be  overheard.  We 
lived,  he  and  I,  almost  upon  the  footing  of 
strangers  in  this  huge  old  house,  where  everything 
seemed  to  be  weighed  upon  by  the  severe  spirit 
of  ancient  times  and  of  Tatiana  Semenovna.  Not 
only  she  herself,  but  also  the  servants,  all  these 
old  men  and  women,  the  furniture,  the  pictures, 
all  inspired  me  with  respect  and  a  kind  of  fear, 
and  at  the  same  time  with  the  consciousness  that 
my  husband  and  I  were  not  exactly  in  our  own 
place  there  and  that  our  conduct  must  be  ex- 
tremely circumspect.  As  well  as  I  remember, 
now,  this  severe  order  and  the  prodigious  number 
of  idle,  inquisitive  men  and  women  about  our 
house  were  very  hard  to  bear :  but  even  this  sense 
of  oppression  only  served  to  vivify  our  mutual 
love.  Not  only  I,  but  he  also,  made  an  effort  not 
to  let  it  be  seen  that  anything  in  our  home  was 
displeasing  to  us.  Sometimes  this  calmness,  this 


106  KATIA. 

indulgence,  this  seeming  indifference  to  every- 
thing, irritated  me,  and  I  could  not  help  looking 
upon  such  conduct  as  weakness,  and  telling  him 
so. 

"Ah,  dearKatia,"  he  replied,  once,  when  I  was 
expressing  my  annoyance,  "  how  can  a  man  show 
that  anything,  no  matter  what,  is  displeasing  to 
him,  when  he  is  as  happy  as  I  am  ?  It  is  a  great 
deal  easier  to  yield,  than  to  make  them  yield,  I 
have  long  been  convinced  of  that,  —  and,  more- 
over, of  the  fact  there  is  no  situation  where 
one  cannot  be  happy.  Everything  goes  so 
well  with  us !  I  do  not  even  know,  any  longer, 
how  to  get  angry ;  for  me,  just  now,  there  is 
nothing  at  all  that  is  bad,  there  are  only  things 
that  are  either  dull  or  droll.  But,  above  all,  'let 
well  enough  alone.'  You  may  hardly  believe 
me,  but  whenever  I  hear  a  ring  at  the  door-bell, 
whenever  I  receive  a  letter,  actually  whenever  I 
wake  in  the  morning,  a  fear  takes  hold  of  me,  fear 
of  the  obligations  of  life,  fear  that  something  may 
be  going  to  change ;  for  nothing  could  be  better 
than  this  present  moment !" 


KATIA. 


I  believed  him,  but  I  could  not  understand 
him.  I  was  happy,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  all 
was  as  it  ought  to  be,  and  could  not  be  otherwise  ; 
that  it  was  the  same  with  every  one  else,  and  that 
somewhere  there  were  other  joys  still,  not  greater 
ones,  but  quite  different. 

Thus  two  months  passed  by,  bringing  us  to 
the  cold,  stormy  winter,  and  although  he  was  with 
me,  I  began  to  feel  somewhat  alone  ;  I  began  to 
feel  that  life  was  doing  nothing  but  repeating  itself, 
as  it  were  ;  that  it  offered  nothing  new  either  for 
me  or  for  him  ;  that,  on  the  contrary,  we  seemed 
to  be  forever  treading  over  and  over  again  in  our 
own  footsteps.  He  was  more  frequently  occupied 
with  business  matters  away  from  me,  than  he  had 
been  at  first,  and  once  more  I  had  the  old  feeling 
that  far  down  in  his  soul  lay  a  world,  hidden  and 
reserved,  to  which  he  would  not  admit  me.  His 
unalterable  serenity  irritated  me.  I  loved  him 
no  less  than  formerly,  was  no  less  happy  in 
his  love;  but  my  love  remained  stationary  and 
did  not  seem  to  grow  any  more,  and  besides 
this  love  a  new  sentiment,  full  of  anxiety,  came 


108  KATIA. 

creeping  into  my  heart  Continuing  to  love 
seemed  to  me  so  small  a  thing  after  that  great 
transport  of  first  loving  him ;  I  felt  as  if  my  senti- 
ments ought  to  include  agitation,  danger,  sacrifice 
of  myself.  There -were  in  me  exuberant  forces 
finding  no  employment  in  our  tranquil  existence, 
fits  of  depression  which  I  sought  to  conceal  from 
him  as  something  wicked,  fits  of  impetuous  tender- 
ness and  gaiety  which  only  alarmed  him.  He 
still  had  his  old  habit  of  watching  me  and  study- 
ing my  moods,  and  one  day  he  came  to  me  with 
a  proposal  to  move  to  the  city  for  a  time ;  but  I 
begged  him  not  to  go,  not  to  alter  anything  what- 
ever in  our  mode  of  life,  not  to  touch  our  happi- 
ness. And,  really  and  truly,  I  was  happy ;  but  I 
was  tormenting  myself  because  this  happiness 
brought  me  no  labor,  no  sacrifice,  while,  I  felt 
all  the  powers  of  sacrifice  and  labor  dying  away 
within  me.  I  loved  him,  I  knew  that  I  was  en- 
tirely his;  but  I  wished  every  one  to  see  our 
love,  wished  that  some  one  would  try  to  prevent 
my  loving  him,  —  and  then  to  love  him  all  the 
same !  My  mind,  and  even  my  sentiments,  found 


KATIA  109 

their  field  of  action,  but  yet  there  was  some- 
thing —  the  sense  of  youth,  with  its  need  of  move- 
ment —  which  had  no  sufficient  satisfaction  in  our 
placid  life.  Why  did  he  tell  me  that  we  could  go 
to  the  city  whenever  the  fancy  seized  me  to  do 
so  ?  If  he  had  not  said  this,  perhaps  I  might 
have  understood  that  the  feeling  which  oppressed 
me  was  a  pernicious  chimera,  a  fault  of  which  I 
was  guilty.  .  .  .  But  the  thought  kept  coming 
into  my  head  that  simply  by  going  to  the  city,  I 
could  escape  from  my  ennui ;  but  then,  on  the 
other  hand,  this  would  be  withdrawing  him  from 
a  life  that  he  loved ;  I  was  ashamed  to  do  this, 
but  it  cost  me  something  not  to  do  it. 

Time  went  on,  the  snow  piled  higher  and 
higher  against  the  walls  of  the  house,  and  we 
were  always  alone,  still  alone,  always  with  each 
other,  while  away  yonder,  —  I  knew  not  where, 
but  yonder  somewhere,  —  in  stir  and  motion, 
in  splendor  and  excitement,  was  the  crowd, 
feeling,  suffering,  rejoicing,  amusing  itself,  with- 
out one  thought  of  us  and  our  vanished  exist- 
ence. Worst  of  all  to  me  was  the  consciousness- 


110  KATIA. 

that  day  by  day  the  chain  of  habit  was  binding 
and  pressing  our  life  closer  into  its  narrow  mould, 
that  our  love  itself  would  enter  into  bondage  and 
become  subject  to  the  monotonous  and  dispassion- 
ate law  of  time.  To  be  cheerful  in  the  morning, 
respectful  at  dinner,  affectionate  in  the  evening ! 
"  To  do  good  !"  I  said  to  myself,  it  is  all  very  well 
and  admirable  to  do  good,  and  to  live  a  worthy 
life,  as  he  says ;  but  we  have  yet  time  enough  for 
that;  there  are  other  things  for  which,  to-day,  I 
feel  powers  within  me.  This  is  not  what  I 
wanted;  what  I  wanted  was  combat,  struggle; 
was  to  feel  that  love  is  our  guide  in  life,  not  that 
life  guides  our  love.  I  could  have  wished  to  draw 
near  to  the  abyss  with  him,  to  say  to  him  :  "One 
more  step,  and  I  dash  myself  down,  one  more 
movement  and  I  perish;  "  he,  while  paling  on  the 
brink  of  this  abyss,  he  would  have  seized  me 
with  his  powerful  hand,  held  me  there  suspended 
above  the  gulf,  my  heart  faint  with  fear,  —  and 
then  he  might  have  borne  me  whithersoever  he 
would ! 

This   mood   of  my  soul    began   to  tell  upon 


KATIA  1 1 1 

my  health,  my  nerves  began  to  be  out  of  order. 
One  morning  I  felt  even  more  upset  than  usual, 
and  Sergius  returned  home  in  rather  a  bad  tem- 
per, which  was  an  extremely  rare  occurrence 
with  him  ;  I  noticed  it  at  once,  and  asked  him 
what  was  the  matter,  but  he  would  not  tell  me, 
only  remarking  that  it  was  not  worth  while.  As 
I  afterwards  learned,  the  ispravnik,*  from  ill-will 
to  my  husband,  had  summoned  several  peasants, 
made  some  illegal  exaction  of  them,  and  had  even 
uttered  menaces  against  him.  My  husband  had 
not  yet  been  able  to  look  into  the  matter  and, 
moreover,  as  it  was  but  a  piece  of  absurd  im- 
pertinence he  had  not  cared  to  tell  me  of  it ; 
but  I  imagined  that  his  not  telling  me  was  be- 
cause he  considered  me  a  child,  and  that  in  his 
eyes  I  was  incapable  of  understanding  what  inter- 
ested him.  I  turned  from  him  in  silence,  without 
saying  a  word ;  he  went  into  his  study,  gravely, 
and  shut  his  door  after  him.  When  I  could  no 
longer  hear  him,  I  sat  down  on  a  divan,  almost 
crying.  "  Why,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  does  he 

*  Justice  of  the  peace,  of  the  district. 


112  KATIA. 

persist  in  humiliating  me  by  his  solemn  calmness, 
by  being  always  in  the  right  ?  Am  I  not  in 
the  right  also,  when  I  am  wearied,  when  every- 
where I  feel  emptiness,  when  I  long  to  live,  to 
move,  not  to  stay  forever  in  one  place  and  feel 
time  walk  over  me  ?  I  wish  to  go  onward,  each 
day,  each  hour ;  I  wish  for  something  new,  while 
he,  —  he  wants  to  stand  still  in  one  spot,  and 
keep  me  standing  there  with  him  !  And  yet  how 
easy  it  would  be  for  him  to  satisfy  me  !  He  need 
not  take  me  to  the  city,  it  would  only  be  neces- 
sary for  him  to  be  a  little  like  me,  for  him  to 
stop  trying  to  constrain  and  crush  himself  with 
his  own  hands,  for  him  to  live  naturally.  That  is 
what  he  is  always  advising  me,  and  it  is  he  who  is 
not  natural,  that  is  all." 

I  felt  my  tears  getting  the  mastery  of  me,  and 
my  irritation  against  him  increasing.  I  was  afraid 
of  this  irritation,  and  I  went  to  find  him.  He 
was  sitting  in  his  study,  writing.  Hearing  my 
steps,  he  turned  for  an  instant  looked  at  me  with 
a  calm  and  indifferent  air,  and  continued  writing ; 
this  look  did  not  please  me,  and  instead  of  going 


KATIA.  113 

up  to  him,  I  stopped  near  the  table  where  he 
was  writing  and,  opening  a  book,  began  to  run 
my  eyes  over  the  page.  He  turned  then,  a 
second  time,  and  looked  at  me  again : 

"  Katia,  you  are  not  as  bright  as  usual !" 

I  only  responded  by  a  cold  glance,  meant  to 
convey :  "  And  why  ?  And  why  so  much  amia- 
bility ?"  He  shook  his  head  at  me,  arid  smiled 
timidly  and  tenderly ;  but,  for  the  first  time,  my 
smile  would  not  answer  his. 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  you  this  morn- 
ing ?"  I  asked,  "  why  would  you  tell  me 
nothing  ?" 

"  It  was  a  trifle  !  a  slight  worry,"  he  replied. 
"  I  can  tell  you  all  about  it,  now.  Two  peasants 
had  been  summoned  to  the  city.  .  ." 

But  I  would  not  let  him  finish. 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  when  I  asked 
you  ?" 

"  I  might  have  said  something  foolish,  I  was 
angry  then." 

"  That  was  just  the  time  to  tell  me." 

"  And  why  so  ?" 


114  KATIA. 

"  What  you  think,  then,  is  that  I  never  can 
help  you  in  anything?" 

"What  I  think?"  said  he,  throwing  down  his 
pen.  "  I  think  that  without  you  I  could  not  live. 
In  all  things,  in  all,  not  only  are  you  a  help  to 
me,  but  it  is  by  you  that  everything  is  done.  You 
are  literally  to  me  '  well-fallen,'  "  he  went  on  smil- 
ing. "  It  is  in  you  alone  that  I  live ;  it  seems  to 
me  nothing  is  good  but  because  you  are  there, 
because  you  must.  .  ." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,  I  am  a  nice  little  child  who 
has  to  be  petted  and  kept  quiet,"  said  I,  in  such 
a  tone  that  he  looked  at  me  in  amazement.  "  But 
I  do  not  want  this  quieting ;  I  have  had  enough 
of  it!" 

"  Come,  let  me  tell  you  about  this  morning's 
trouble,"  he  said  hastily,  as  if  he  was  afraid  to 
give  me  time  to  say  more :  "  let  us  see  what  you 
think  of  it!" 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  it  now,"  I  replied. 

I  really  did  want  to  hear  it,  but  it  was  more 
agreeable  to  me,  at  this  moment,  to  disturb  his 
tranquillity. 


KATIA.  115 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  play  with  the  things  of  life ; 
I  wish  to  live,"  I  added ;  "  like  you." 

His  face,  which  always  so  clearly  and  so 
readily  reflected  every  impression,  wore  a  look  of 
suffering  and  intense  attention. 

"  I  wish  to  live  with  you  in  perfect  equal- 
ity. ..." 

But  I  could  not  finish,  such  profound  pain 
was  on  his  face.  He  was  silent  an  instant. 

"And  in  what  do  you  not  live  with  me  on  a 
footing  of  equality  ?"  he  said :  "  it  is  I,  not  you, 
that  is  concerned  in  this  affair  of  the  ispravnik 
and  some  drunken  peasants." 

"  Yes,  but  it  is  not  only  this  case,"  said  I. 

"  For  the  love  of  God,  do  understand  me, 
my  darling,"  he  continued ;  "  I  know  how  painful 
a  thing  care  is  for  us  all ;  I  have  lived,  and  I 
know  it.  I  love  you,  therefore  I  would  spare  you 
every  care.  My  life  is  centred  in  my  love  for 
you ;  so  do  not  prevent  my  living !" 

"You  are  always  right,"  said  I,  without  look- 
ing at  him. 

I  could  not  bear  to  see  him  once  more  serene 


Il6  KATIA. 

and  tranquil,  while  I  was  so  full  of  anger  and  a 
feeling  somewhat  resembling  repentance. 

"  Katia  !  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?"  said 
he.  "  The  question  is  not  in  the  least  which  of  us 
two  is  in  the  right,  what  we  were  talking  about  is 
something  entirely  different.  What  have  you 
against  me  ?  Do  not  tell  me  at  once  ;  reflect,  and 
then  tell  me  all  that  is  in  your  thoughts.  You  are 
displeased  with  me,  you  have,  no  doubt,  a  reason, 
but  explain  to  me  in  what  I  am  to  blame." 

But  how  could  I  tell  him  all  that  I  had  in  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  ?  The  thought  that  he  had 
seen  through  me  at  once,  that  again  I  found  my- 
self as  a  child  before  him,  that  I  could  do  nothing 
that  he  did  not  comprehend  and  foresee,  excited 
me  more  than  ever. 

"  I  have  nothing  against  you,"  said  I,  "  but  I 
am  tired,  and  I  do  not  like  ennui.  You  say  that 
this  must  be  so,  and,  of  course,  once  more  you 
are  right !" 

As  I  spoke,  I  looked  in  his  face.  My  object 
was  attained ;  his  serenity  had  disappeared ;  alarm 
and  pain  were  stamped  upon  his  face. 


KATIA.  H/ 

"Katia!"  he  began,  in  a  low,  agitated  voice, 
"this  is  no  jesting  we  are  engaged  in,  at  this 
moment.  Our  fate  is  being  decided.  I  ask  you 
to  say  nothing,  only  to  hear  me.  Why  are  you 
torturing  me  thus  ?" 

But  I  broke  in. 

"Say  no  more,  you  are  right,"  said  I,  coldly, 
as  if  it  were  not  I,  but  some  evil  spirit  speaking 
with  my  lips. 

"If  you  knew  what  you  are  doing!"  he  ex- 
claimed in  a  trembling  voice. 

I  began  to  cry,  and  I  felt  my  heart  somewhat 
relieved.  He  was  sitting  near  me,  silent.  I  was 
sorry  for  him,  ashamed  of  myself,  troubled  by 
what  I  had  done.  I  did  not  look  at  him.  I  felt 
sure  that  he  was  looking  at  me,  and  that  his  eyes 
were  perplexed  or  severe.  I  turned ;  his  eyes 
were  indeed  fixed  upon  me,  but  they  were  kind 
and  gentle  and  seemed  entreating  forgiveness.  I 
took  his  hand,  and  said : 

"  Pardon  me !  I  do  not  know,  myself,  what  I 
said." 


Il8  KATIA. 

"Yes,  but  I  know  what  you  said,  and  I  know 
that  you  spoke  the  truth." 

"What  truth?"  I  asked. 

"  That  we  must  go  to  St.  Petersburg.  This 
is  no  longer  the  place  for  us." 

"  As  you  wish." 

He  took  me  in  his  arms  and  kissed  me. 

"  You  forgive  me  ?"  he  said,  "  I  have  been  to 
blame  concerning  you.  .  ." 

In  the  evening  I  was  at  the  piano  a  long  time 
playing  for  him,  while  he  walked  up  and  down 
the  room,  repeating  something  in  a  low  tone  to 
himself.  This  was  a  habit  with  him,  and  I  often 
asked  him  what  he  was  murmuring  thus,  and  he, 
still  thoughtful,  would  repeat  it  again  to  me;  gen- 
erally it  was  poetry,  sometimes  some  really  ab- 
surd thing,  but  even  the  very  absurdity  would 
show  me  what  frame  of  mind  he  was  in. 

"  What  are  you  murmuring  there,  now  ?"  I 
asked  after  a  time. 

He  stood  still,  thought  a  little,  then,  smiling, 
repeated  the  two  lines  from  Lermontoff: 


KATIA.  119 

"And  he,  the  madman,  invoked  the  tempest, 
As  if,  in  the  tempest,  peace  might  reign !" 

"  Yes,  he  is  more  than  a  man ;  he  sees  every- 
thing !"  thought  I ;  "  how  can  I  help  loving  him !" 

I  left  the  piano,  took  hold  of  his  hand,  and 
began  to  walk  up  and  down  with  him,  measuring 
my  steps  by  his. 

"  Well !"  he  said,  looking  down  at  me  with  a 
smile. 

"  Well !"  I  echoed ;  and  our  two  hearts 
seemed  to  spring  to  each  other  once  more. 

At  the  end  of  a  fortnight,  before  the  fetes,  we 
were  in  St.  Petersburg. 


120  KATIA. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

OUR  removal  to  St.  Petersburg,  a  week  in 
Moscow,  visits  to  his  relatives  and  to  my  own, 
settling  ourselves  in  our  new  apartment,  the  jour- 
ney, the  new  city,  the  new  faces,  all  seemed  to  me 
like  a  dream.  All  was  so  novel,  so  changeful,  so 
gay,  all  was  so  brightened  for  me  by  his  presence, 
by  his  love,  that  the  placid  country  life  appeared 
to  me  something  very  far  off,  a  sort  of  unreal 
thing.  To  my  great  surprise,  instead  of  the  ar- 
rogant pride,  the  coldness,  I  had  expected  to 
encounter,  I  was  welcomed  by  all  (not  only  by 
our  relatives,  but  by  strangers,)  with  such  cordial- 
ity that  it  seemed  as  if  they  had  no  thought  of 
anything  but  me,  and  as  if  one  and  all  had  been 
longing  for  my  arrival  to  complete  their  own 
happiness.  Contrary  to  my  anticipations,  in  the 
circles  of  society,  even  in  those  which  seemed  to 
me  most  select,  I  discovered  many  friends  and 


KATIA.  121 

connections  of  my  husband  whom  he  had  never 
mentioned  to  me,  and  it  often  struck  me  as 
strange  and  disagreeable  to  hear  him  utter  severe 
strictures  upon  some  of  these  persons  who  seemed 
to  me  so  good.  I  could  not  understand  why  he 
treated  them  so  coldly,  or  why  he  tried  to  avoid 
some  acquaintances  whose  intimacy  I  thought 
rather  flattering.  I  thought  that  the  more  one 
knew  of  nice  people,  the  better  it  was,  and  all 
these  were  nice  people. 

"  Let  us  see  how  we  shall  arrange  things,"  he 
had  said  to  me  before  we  left  the  country :  "  here, 
we  are  little  Croesuses,  and  there  we  shall  be  far 
from  rich  ;  so  we  cannot  remain  in  the  city  longer 
than  Easter,  and  we  cannot  go  much  into  society, 
or  we  shall  find  ourselves  embarrassed;  and  I 
would  not  like  you.  ..." 

"  Why  go  into  society  ?"  I  had  answered ; 
'"  we  will  only  visit  our  relatives,  go  to  the  theatre 
and  opera,  and  to  hear  any  good  music,  and  even 
before  Easter  we  can  be  at  home,  again  in  the 
country." 

But  scarcely  were  we  in  St.  Petersburg  than 


122  KATIA. 

all  these  fine  plans  were  forgotten.  I  had  been 
suddenly  thrown  into  a  world  so  new,  so  happy, 
so  many  delights  had  surrounded  me,  so  many 
objects  of  heretofore  unknown  interest  were  of- 
fered to  me,  that  all  in  a  moment,  as  it  were,  and 
without  being  conscious  of  it,  I  disavowed  all  my 
past,  I  upset  all  the  plans  formerly  arranged. 
Until  now  there  had  been  nothing  but  play ;  as  to 
life  itself,  it  had  not  yet  begun ;  but  here  it  was 
now,  the  real,  the  true,  —  and  what  will  it  be  in 
the  future  ?  thought  I.  The  anxieties,  the  fits  of 
depression,  which  came  upon  me  in  the  country, 
disappeared  suddenly  as  if  by  enchantment.  My 
love  for  my  husband  became  calmer,  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  never  occurred  to  me,  in  this  new 
life,  to  think  that  he  was  loving  me  less  than  for- 
merly. Indeed,  it  was  not  possible  for  me  to 
doubt  this  love ;  each  thought  was  instantly  un- 
derstood by  him,  each  sentiment  shared,  each 
wish  gratified.  His  unalterable  serenity  had  van- 
ished, here,  or  perhaps  it  had  only  ceased  to  cause 
me  any  irritation.  I  even  felt  that  besides  his 
old  love  for  me  he  seemed  now  to  find  some  new 


KATIA.  123 

charm  in  me.  Often,  after  a  visit,  after  I  had 
made  some  new  acquaintance,  or  after  an  evening 
at  home,  when,  with  secret  misgiving  lest  I  should 
commit  some  blunder,  I  had  been  performing  the 
duties  of  hostess,  he  would  say  to  me  : 

"  Well,  my  little  girl !  bravo !  well  done,  in- 
deed !" 

This  would  fill  me  with  delight 

A  short  time  after  our  arrival  he  wrote  to  his 
mother,  and,  as  he  handed  me  the  letter  to  let  me 
add  a  few  words,  he  said  I  must  not  read  what  he 
had  written ;  I  laughingly  persisted  in  seeing  it^ 
and  read : 

"  You  would  not  recognize  Katia,  I  hardly 
recognize  her  myself.  Where  could  she  have 
acquired  this  lovely  and  graceful  ease  of  manner, 
this  affability,  this  fascination,  this  sweet,  uncon- 
scious tact  ?  And  still  always  so  simple,  so  gen- 
tle, so  full  of  kindness.  Every  one  is  delighted 
with  her ;  and  as  for  me,  I  am  never  tired  of  ad- 
miring her,  and,  if  that  were  possible,  would  be 
more  in  love  with  her  than  ever." 

"  This,  then,  is  what  I  am  ?"  I  thought.     And 


124  KATIA. 

it  gave  me  so  much  pleasure  and  gratification  that 
I  felt  as  if  I  loved  him  more  than  ever.  My  suc- 
cess with  all  our  acquaintances  was  a  thing  abso- 
lutely unexpected  by  me.  On  all  sides  I  was 
told :  here,  that  I  had  particularly  pleased  my 
uncle,  there,  that  an  aunt  was  raving  over  me ; 
by  this  one,  that  there  was  not  a  woman  in  all  St. 
Petersburg  like  me ;  by  that  one,  that  if  I  chose 
there  would  not  be  a  woman  in  society  so  sought 
after  as  myself.  There  was  one  cousin  of  my 
husband  especially,  Princess  D.,  a  lady  of  high 

rank    and    fashion,    no    longer   young,    who    an- 

t 
nounced  that  she  had  fallen  in  love  with  me  at 

first  sight,  and  who  did  more  than  any  one  else 
to  turn  my  head  with  flattering  attentions. 
When,  for  the  first  time,  this  cousin  proposed  to 
me  to  go  to  a  ball,  and  broached  the  subject  to 
my  husband,  he  turned  towards  me  with  an  al- 
most imperceptible  smile,  and  mischievous  glance, 
and  asked  if  I  wanted  to  go.  I  nodded,  and  felt 
my  face  flush. 

"  One  would  say,  a  little  culprit,  confessing  a 
wish,"  he  said,  laughing  good-humoredly. 


KATIA.  125 

"  You  told  me  we  must  not  go  into  company, 
and  that  you  would  not  like  it,"  I  responded, 
smiling  also,  and  giving  him  an  entreating  glance. 

"  If  you  wish  it  very  much,  we  will  go." 

"  Indeed,  I  would  rather.  .  .  ." 

"  Do  you  wish  it,  wish  it  very  much  ?"  he  re- 
peated. 

I  made  no  answer. 

"  The  greatest  harm  is  not  in  the  world,  so- 
ciety, itself,"  he  went  on;  "it  is  unsatisfied  worldly 
aspirations  that  are  so  evil,  so  unhealthful.  Cer- 
tainly we  must  go,  —  and  we  will  go,"  he  con- 
cluded, unhesitatingly. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  I  replied,  "  there  is 
nothing  in  the  world  I  long  for  so  much  as  to  go 
to  this  ball !" 

We  went  to  it,  and  my  delight  was  far  beyond 
all  my  anticipations.  At  this  ball,  even  more 
than  before,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  the  centre 
around  which  everything  was  revolving;  that  it 
was  for  me  alone  that  this  splendid  room  was  in  a 
blaze  of  light,  that  the  music  was  sounding,  that 
the  gay  throng  was  gathering  in  ecstasy  before 


126  KATIA. 

me.  All,  from  the  hair-dresser  and  my  maid 
to  the  dancers,  and  even  the  stately  old  gentle- 
men who  slowly  walked  about  through  the  rooms, 
watching  the  younger  people,  seemed  to  me  to 
be  either  implying  or  telling  me  in  downright 
speech  that  they  were  wild  about  me.  The  im- 
pression which  I  produced  at  this  ball,  and  which 
my  cousin  proudly  confided  to  me,  was  summed 
up  in  the  general  verdict  that  I  was  not  the 
least  in  the  world  like  other  women,  and  that 
there  was  about  me  some  peculiar  quality  which 
recalled  the  simplicity  and  charm  of  the  country. 
This  success  flattered  me  so  much  that  I  frankly 
owned  to  my  husband  how  I  longed  to  go  to  at 
least  two  or  three  of  the  balls  to  be  given  in  the 
course  of  the  winter,  "  in  order,"  I  said,  despite  a 
sharp  little  whisper  from  my  conscience,  "  that  I 
may  be  satiated,  once  for  all  !" 

My  husband  willingly  consented  to  this,  and 
at  first  accompanied  me,  with  evident  pride  and 
pleasure  in  my  success,  apparently  forgetting  or 
disavowing  what  he  had  formerly  decided  on 
principle. 


KATIA.  127 

But  after  awhile  I  could  see  that  he  was 
bored,  and  growing  tired  of  the  life  we  were  lead- 
ing. However,  this  was  not  yet  clear  enough  to 
my  eyes  for  me  to  understand  the  full  significance 
of  the  grave,  watchful  look  he  sometimes  directed 
towards  me,  even  if  I  noticed  the  look  at  all.  I 
was  so  intoxicated  by  this  love  which  I  seemed  so 
suddenly  to  have  aroused  in  all  these  strangers, 
by  this  perfume  of  elegance,  pleasure,  and  novelty, 
which  I  here  breathed  for  the  first  time ;  by  the 
apparent  removal  of  what  had  hitherto,  as  it  were, 
held  me  down,  namely,  the  moral  weight  of  my 
husband ;  it  was  so  sweet  to  me,  not  only  to  walk 
through  this  new  world  on  a  level  with  him,  but 
to  find  the  place  given  me  there  even  higher  than 
his,  and  yet  to  love  him  with  all  the  more  strength 
and  independence  than  before;  that  I  could  not 
understand  that  he  looked  on  with  displeasure  at 
my  utter  delight  in  this  worldly  existence. 

I  felt  a  new  thrill  of  pride  and  deep  satisfac- 
tion, when  upon  entering  a  ball-room,  all  eyes 
would  turn  towards  me;  and  when  he,  as  if  dis- 
daining to  parade  before  the  multitude  his  rights 


128  KATIA. 

of  proprietorship,  would  quietly  and  at  once  leave 
my  side  and  go  off  to  be  lost  in  the  mass  of  black 
coats. 

"  Only  wait !"  I  often  thought,  as  my  eyes 
sought  him  out  at  the  end  of  the  room,  and 
rested  on  his  face,  dimly  seen  from  the  distance 
between  us,  but  sometimes  with  a  very  weary 
look  upon  it ;  "  wait !  when  we  are  at  home  again 
you  shall  see  and  know  for  whom  I  have  been 
glad  to  be  so  beautiful  and  so  brilliant,  you  shall 
know  whom  I  love  far,  far  above  all  around  me 
this  evening."  It  seemed  to  me,  very  sincerely, 
that  my  delight  in  my  successes  was  only  for  his 
sake,  and  also  because  they  enabled  me  to  sacri- 
fice even  themselves  for  him.  "  One  thing  alone," 
I  thought,  "  might  be  a  danger  to  me  in  this  life 
in  the  world :  that  is,  that  one  of  the  men  I  meet 
here  might  conceive  a  passion  for  me,  and  my 
husband  might  grow  jealous  of  him ;  but  he  had 
such  confidence  in  me,  he  appeared  to  be  so  calm 
and  indifferent,  and  all  these  young  men  seemed 
in  my  eyes  so  empty  in  comparison  with  him. 
that  this  peril,  the  only  one,  as  I  thought,  with 


KATIA.  129 

which  social  life  could  threaten  me,  had  no  ter- 
rors at  all.  Still,  the  attentions  I  received  from 
so  many  persons  in  society  gave  me  such  pleasure, 
such  a  sense  of  satisfied  self-love  that  I  rather  felt 
as  if  there  was  some  merit  in  my  very  love  for  my 
husband,  while  at  the  same  time  it  seemed  to  im- 
press upon  my  relation  to  him  greater  ease  and 
freedom. 

"  I  noticed  how  very  animated  your  manner 
was,  while  you  were  talking  to  N.  N,"  I  said  to 
him,  one  evening,  upon  our  return  from  a  ball ; 
and  I  shook  my  finger  at  him  as  I  named  a  well- 
known  lady  of  St.  Petersburg  with  whom  he  had 
spent  part  of  the  evening.  I  only  meant  to  tease  him 
a  little,  for  he  was  silent,  and  had  a  wearied  look. 

"  Ah,  why  say  such  a  thing  ?  And  for  you  to 
say  it,  Katia  !"  he  exclaimed,  frowning,  and  press- 
ing his  lips  together  as  if  in  physical  pain.  "  That 
is  not  like  you,  —  not  becoming  your  position,  or 
mine.  Leave  such  speeches  to  others ;  bad  jests 
of  that  kind  might  entirely  do  away  with  our 
good  understanding,  —  and  I  still  hope  that  this 
good  understanding  may  return." 


130  KATIA. 

I  felt  confused,  and  was  silent. 

"  Will  it  return,  Katia  ?  What  do  you  think  ?" 
he  asked. 

"  It  is  not  changed,  —  it  will  never  change," 
I  said,  and  then  I  firmly  believed  my  assertion. 

"  May  God  grant  it !"  he  exclaimed,  "  but  it  is 
time  we  were  going  back  to  the  country." 

This  was  the  only  occasion  upon  which  he 
spoke  to  me  in  this  way,  and  the  rest  of  the  time 
it  seemed  to  me  that  everything  was  going  on  as 
delightfully  for  him  as  for  me,  —  and  as  for  me, 
oh !  I  was  so  light-hearted,  so  joyous  !  If  oc- 
casionally I  happened  to  notice  that  he  was 
wearied,  I  would  console  myself  by  reflecting  how 
long,  for  his  sake,  I  had  been  wearied  in  the  coun- 
try ;  if  our  relations  seemed  to  be  undergoing 
some  little  alteration,  I  thought  how  speedily  they 
would  resume  their  old  charm  when  we  should 
find  ourselves  again  alone,  in  the  summer,  at  our 
own  Nikolski. 

Thus  the  winter  sped  away  without  my  real- 
izing it;  and  Easter  came,  and,  despite  all  our 
resolutions  we  were  still  in  St.  Petersburg. 


KATIA.  131 

The  Sunday  following,  however,  we  were  really 
ready  to  go,  everything  was  packed,  my  husband 
had  made  his  final  purchases  of  flowers,  gifts, 
things  of  all  kinds  which  were  needed  for  the 
country,  and  was  in  one  of  his  happiest,  most 
affectionate  moods.  Shortly  before  we  were  to 
start,  we  had  an  unexpected  visit  from  our  cousin, 
who  came  to  beg  us  to  postpone  our  depar- 
ture one  week,  so  that  we  might  attend  a  re- 
ception given  by  Countess  R.  on  Saturday.  She 
reminded  me  that  I  had  already  received  several 
invitations  from  Countess  R.,  which  had  been  de- 
clined, and  told  me  that  Prince  M.,  then  in  St. 
Petersburg,  had,  at  the  last  ball,  expressed  a  de- 
sire to  make  my  acquaintance,  that  it  was  with 
this  object  in  view  that  he  purposed  attending 
this  reception,  and  that  he  was  saying  everywhere 
that  I  was  the  loveliest  woman  in  Russia.  The 
whole  city  would  be  there,  —  in  one  word, 
I  must  go !  It  would  be  nothing  without 
me. 

My  husband  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
talking  to  some  one. 


132  KATIA. 

» 

"  So  you  will  certainly  come,  Katia  ?"  said  my 
cousin. 

"  We  meant  to  leave  for  the  country,  day 
after  to-morrow,"  I  replied,  doubtfully,  as  I 
glanced  at  my  husband.  Our  eyes  met,  and  he 
turned  away  abruptly. 

"  I  will  persuade  him  to  stay,"  said  my  cousin, 
"  and  on  Saturday  we  will  turn  all  heads, —  won't 
we?" 

"  Our  plans  would  be  disarranged,  all  our 
packing  is  done,"  I  objected  feebly,  beginning  to 
waver. 

"  Perhaps  she  had  better  go  to-day,  at  once, 
to  pay  her  respects  to  the  prince !"  observed  my 
husband  from  his  end  of  the  room,  with  some  ir- 
ritation, and  in  a  dictatorial  tone  I  had  never 
heard  from  him  before. 

"  Why,  he  is  getting  jealous  ;  I  see  it  for  the 
first  time  !"  exclaimed  our  cousin,  ironically.  "  It 
is  not  for  the  prince  alone,  Sergius  Mikailovitch, 
but  for  all  of  us,  that  I  want  her.  That  is  why 
Countess  R.  is  so  urgent." 


KATIA.  133 

"  It*  depends  upon  herself,"  returned  my 
husband,  coldly,  as  he  left  the  room. 

I  had  seen  that  he  was  much  more  agitated 
than  usual ;  this  troubled  me,  and  I  would  not 
give  a  decided  answer  to  my  cousin.  As  soon  as 
she  was  gone,  I  went  to  look  for  my  husband.  He 
was  thoughtfully  walking  up  and  down  his  cham- 
ber, and  neither  saw  nor  heard  me,  as  I  stole 
softly  in  on  tiptoe. 

"  He  is  picturing  to  himself  his  dear  Nikolski," 
thought  I,  watching  him,  "he  is  thinking  about  his 
morning  coffee  in  that  light  drawing-room,  his 
fields,  his  peasants,  his  evenirtgs  at  home,  and  his 
secret  little  night  suppers !  Yes,"  I  decided,  in 
my  own  mind,  "  I  would  give  all  the  balls  in  the 
world,  and  the  flatteries  of  every  prince  in  the 
universe,  to  have  again  his  bright  joyousness  and 
his  loving  caresses !" 

I  was  about  telling  him  that  I  was  not  going 
to  the  reception,  that  I  no  longer  cared  to  go, 
when  he  suddenly  glanced  behind  him.  At  the 
sight  of  me,  his  brow  darkened,  and  the  dreamy 
gentleness  of  his  countenance  changed  entirely. 


134  KATIA. 

The  well-known  look  came  to  his  face,  the  look  of 
penetrating  wisdom  and  patronizing  calmness. 
He  would  not  let  me  see  in  him  simple  human 
nature :  he  must  remain  for  me  the  demi-god 
upon  his  pedestal ! 

"  What  is  it,  my  love  ?"  he  enquired,  turn- 
ing towards  me  with  quiet  carelessness. 

I  did  not  answer.  I  resented  his  hiding  him- 
self from  me,  his  not  allowing  me  to  see  him  as  I 
best  loved  him. 

"  So  you  wish  to  go  to  this  reception,  on 
Saturday?"  he  continued. 

"  I  did  wish  to  go,"  I  replied,  ''  but  it  did  not 
suit  you.  And  then,  too,  the  packing  is  done,"  I 
added. 

Never  had  he  looked  at  me  so  coldly ,  never 
spoken  so  coldly. 

"  I  shall  not  leave  before  Tuesday,  and  I  will 
order  the  packing  to  be  undone,"  he  said ;  "  we 
will  not  go  until  you  choose.  Do  me  the  favor  to 
go  to  this  entertainment.  I  shall  not  leave  the 
city." 

As  was  his  habit  when  excited,  he  went  on 


KATIA.  135 

walking  about  the  room  with  quick,  irregular 
steps,  and  did  not  look  at  me. 

"  Most  decidedly,  I  do  not  understand  you,"  I 
said,  putting  myself  in  his  way,  and  following  him 
with  my  eyes.  "  Why  do  you  speak  to  me  in 
such  a  singular  manner  ?  I  am  quite  ready  to 
sacrifice  this  pleasure  to  you,  and  you,  with  sar- 
casm you  have  never  before  shown,  you  require 
that  I  shall  go  !" 

"Come!  come!  You  sacrifice  yourself"  (he 
laid  strong  emphasis  on  the  word),  "  and  I,  I  sac- 
rifice myself  also  !  Combat  of  generosity  !  There, 
I  hope,  is  what  may  be  called  '  family  happi- 


ness 


This  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  heard  from 
his  lips  words  so  hard  and  satirical.  His  satire  did 
not  touch,  and  his  hardness  did  not  frighten  me, 
but  they  became  contagious.  Was  it  really  he, 
always  so  opposed  to  any  debating  between  us, 
always  so  simple  and  straightforward,  who  was 
speaking  to  me  thus  ?  And  why  ?  Just  because 
I  had  offered  to  sacrifice  myself  to  his  pleasure, 
which  was  really  the  supreme  thing  in  my  eyes ; 


136  KATIA. 

just  because,  at  this  moment,  with  the  thought, 
came  the  comprehension  of  how  much  I  loved 
him.  Our  characters  were  reversed  ;  it  was  he 
who  had  lost  all  frankness  and  simplicity,  and  I 
who  had  found  them. 

"You  are  so  changed,"  said  I,  sighing.  "  Of 
what  am  I  guilty  in  your  eyes  ?  It  is  not  this  re- 
ception, but  some  old  sin,  which  you  are  casting 
up  against  me  in  your  heart.  Why  not  use  more 
sincerity  ?  You  were  not  afraid  of  it  with  me, 
once.  Speak  out,  —  what  have  you  against  me  ?" 

"  No  matter  what  he  may  say,"  I  thought, 
quickly  running  over  the  events  of  the  season  in 
my  mind,  "  there  is  not  one  thing  that  he  has  a 
right  to  reproach  me  with,  this  whole  winter." 

I  went  and  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
so  that  he  would  be  obliged  to  pass  near  me,  and 
I  looked  at  him.  I  said  to  myself:  "  He  will 
come  close  to  me,  he  will  put  his  arms  around  me 
and  kiss  me,  and  that  will  be  the  end  of  it  all;" 
this  thought  darted  into  my  head,  and  it  even  cost 
me  something  to  let  it  end  so,  without  my  prov- 
ing to  him  that  he  was  in  the  wrong.  But  he 


KATIA.  137 

stood  still  at  the  end  of  the  room,  and,  looking  in 
my  face : 

"  You  still  do  not  understand  me?"  he  said. 

"No." 

"  Yet  .  .  .  how  can  I  tell  you  ?  .  .  .  I  am  ap- 
palled, for  the  first  time,  I  am  appalled  at  what  I 
see  —  what  I  cannot  but  see."  He  stopped,  evi- 
dently frightened  at  the  rough  tone  of  his  voice. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  I  demanded,  indig- 
nant tears  filling  my  eyes. 

"  I  am  appalled  that,  knowing  the  prince's 
comments  on  your  beauty,  you  should,  after  that, 
be  so  ready  and  willing  to  run  after  him,  forget- 
ting your  husband,  yourself,  your  own  dignity  as 
a  woman,  —  and  then  for  you  not  to  understand 
what  your  husband  has  to  feel  in  your  stead,  since 
you  yourself  have  not  this  sense  of  your  own 
dignity !  —  far  from  it,  you  come  and  declare  to 
your  husband  that  you  will  -sacrifice  yourself, 
which  is  equivalent  to  saying,  '  To  please  His 
Highness  would  be  my  greatest  happiness,  but  I 
will  sacrifice  it.'  ' 

The  more  he  said,  the  more  the  sound  of  his 


138  KATIA. 

own  voice  excited  him,  and  the  harder,  more  cut- 
ting and  violent,  became  his  voice.  I  had  never 
seen,  and  had  never  expected  to  see  him  thus ; 
the  blood  surged  to  my  heart ;  I  was  frightened, 
but  yet,  at  the  same  time,  a  sense  of  unmerited 
disgrace  and  offended  self-love  aroused  me,  and  I 
keenly  longed  to  take  some  vengeance  on  him. 

"  I  have  long  expected  this  outbreak,"  said 
I,  "  speak,  speak  !" 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  may  have  ex- 
pected," he  went  on,  "but  I  might  have  anticipated 
still  worse  things,  from  seeing  you  day  by  day 
steeped  in  this  slime,  this  idleness,  this  luxury, 
this  senseless  society;  and  I  did  anticipate.  .  .  . 
I  did  anticipate  this  that  to-day  covers  me  with 
shame,  and  sinks  me  in  misery  such  as  I  have  never 
experienced ;  shame  for  myself,  when  your  dear 
friend,  prying  and  fumbling  about  in  my  heart 
with  her  unclean  fingers,  spoke  of  my  jealousy,  — 
and  jealousy  of  whom  ?  Of  a  man  whom  neither 
you  nor  I  have  ever  seen !  And  you,  as  if  pur- 
posely, you  will  not  understand  me,  you  'will 
sacrifice  '  to  me,  —  whom  ?  Great  God  !  .  .  .  . 


KATIA.  139, 

Shame  on  your  ^degradation  !  Sacrifice!"  he  re- 
peated once  more. 

"  Ah,  this  then  is  what  is  meant  by  the  hus- 
band's authority,"  I  thought.  "To  insult  and 
humiliate  his  wife,  who  is  not  guilty  of  the  very 
least  thing  in  the  world  !  Here  then  are  '  mari- 
tal rights;'  —  but  I,  for  one,  will  never  submit  to 
them  !" 

"  Well,  I  sacrifice  nothing  to  you,  then,"  I  re- 
turned, feeling  my  nostrils  dilate,  and  my  face 
grow  bloodless.  "  I  will  go  to  the  reception  on 
Saturday.  I  most  certainly  will  go  !" 

"  And  God  give  you  pleasure  in  it !  Only  — 
all  is  ended  between  us !"  he  exclaimed,  in  an  un- 
controllable transport  of  rage.  "At  least  you 
shall  not  make  a  martyr  of  me  any  longer.  I 
was  a  fool  who.  ..." 

But  his  lips  trembled,  and  he  made  a  visible 
effort  not  to  finish  what  he  had  begun  to  say. 

At  this  moment  I  was  afraid  of  him  and  I 
hated  him.  I  longed  to  say  a  great  many  more 
things  to  him,  and  to  avenge  myself  for  all  his 
insults ;  but  if  I  had  so  much  as  opened  my  lips, 


140  KATIA. 

my  tears  could  no  longer  have  -been  restrained, 
and  I  would  have  felt  my  dignity  compromised 
before  him.  I  left  the  room,  without  a  word. 
But  scarcely  was  I  beyond  the  sound  of  his  foot- 
steps when  I  was  suddenly  seized  with  terror  at 
the  thought  of  what  we  had  done.  It  seemed  to 
me  horrible  that,  perhaps  for  life,  this  bond, 
which  constituted  all  my  happiness,  was  de- 
stroyed, and  my  impulse  was  to  return  at  once. 
But  would  his  passion  have  subsided  sufficiently 
for  him  to  comprehend  me,  if,  without  a  word,  I 
should  hold  out  my  hand  to  him,  and  look  into 
his  eyes  ?  Would  he  comprehend  my  generosity  ? 
Suppose  he  should  regard  my  sincere  sorrow  as 
dissimulation  ?  Or  should  consider  my  voluntary 
right-doing  as  repentance,  and  receive  me  on  that 
score  ?  Or  grant  me  pardon,  with  proud  tran- 
quillity ?  And  why,  when  I  have  loved  him  so 
much,  oh,  why  should  he  have  insulted  me  so  ? 

I  did  not  go  back  to  him,  but  into  my  own 
room,  where  I  sat  for  a  long  time,  crying,  recall- 
ing with  terror  every  word  of  our  conversation, 
mentally  substituting  other  words  for  those  we 


KATIA.  141 

had  used,  adding  different  and  better  ones,  then 
reminding  myself  again,  with  a  mingled  sense  of 
fright  and  outraged  feeling,  of  all  that  had  taken 
place.  When  I  came  down  to  tea,  in  the  even- 
ing, and  in  the  presence  of  C,  who  was  making 
us  a  visit,  met  my  husband  again,  I  was  aware 
that  from  this  day  forward  there  must  be  an  open 
gulf  between  us.  C.  asked  me  when  we  were 
going  to  leave  the  city.  I  could  not  answer  her. 

"  On  Tuesday,"  replied  my  husband,  "  we  are 
staying  for  Countess  R's  reception.  You  are 
going,  no  doubt  ?"  he  continued,  turning  to  me. 

I  was  frightened  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  al- 
though it  seemed  quite  as  usual,  and  glanced  at 
my  husband.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  me,  with  a 
hard  ironical  look,  his  tone  was  measured,  cold. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied. 

Later,  when  we  were  alone,  he  approached 
me,  and  holding  out  his  hand  : 

"Forget,  I  entreat  you,  what  I  said  to  you." 

I  took  his  hand,  a  faint  smile  came  to  my 
trembling  lips,  and  the  tears  started  to  my  eyes ; 
but  he  quickly  drew  it  away  and,  as  if  fearing  a 


142  KATIA. 

sentimental  scene,  went  and  sat  down  in  an  arm- 
chair at  some  distance  from  me.  "  Is  it  possible 
that  he  still  believes  himself  right  ?"  thought  I ; 
and  I  had  on  my  lips  a  cordial  explanation,  and 
a  request  not  to  go  to  the  reception. 

"  I  must  write  to  mamma  that  we  have  post- 
poned our  departure,"  said  he,  "  or  she  will  be 
uneasy." 

"  And  when  do  you  intend  to  leave  ?"  I 
asked. 

"  On  the  Tuesday  after  the  reception." 

"  I  hope  this  is  not  on  my  account,"  said  I, 
looking  into  his  eyes,  but  they  only  looked  back 
into  mine  without  telling  me  anything,  as  if  they 
were  held  far  from  me  by  some  secret  force.  All 
at  once,  his  face  appeared  to  me  old  and  disagree- 
able. 

We  went  to  the  reception,  and  seemingly  our 
relations- were  again  cordial  and  affectionate,  but 
in  reality  they  were  quite  unlike  what  they  had 
been  in  the  past. 

At  the  reception  I  was  sitting  in  the  midst  of 
a  circle  of  ladies,  when  the  prince  approached  me, 


KATIA.  143 

so  that  I  was  obliged  to  stand  up  and  speak  to 
him.  As  I  did  so,  my  eyes  involuntarily  sought 
my  husband ;  I  saw  him  look  at  me,  from  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  and  then  turn  away. 
Such  a  rush  of  shame  and  sorrow  came  over  me, 
that  I  felt  almost  ill,  and  I  knew  that  my  face 
and  neck  grew  scarlet  under  the  eyes  of  the 
prince.  But  I  had  to  stand  and  listen  to  what  he 
was  saying  to  me,  all  the  while  feeling  him  scru- 
tinize me  keenly  from  head  to  foot.  Our  conver- 
sation was  not  long,  there  was  not  room  near  me 
for  him  to  sit  down,  and  he  could  not  help  seeing 
how  ill  at  ease  I  was  with  him.  We  talked  of  the 
last  ball,  where  I  was  to  spend  the  summer,  etc. 
Upon  leaving  me  he  expressed  a  wish  to  make 
my  husband's  acquaintance,  and  in  a  little  while 
I  saw  them  meet,  at  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
and  begin  to  talk  with  each  other.  The  prince 
must  have  made  some  remark  concerning  me,  for 
I  saw  him  smile  and  glance  in  my  direction. 

My  husband's  face  flushed  darkly,  he  bowed, 
and  was  the  first  to  conclude  the  interview.  I 
felt  my  color  rise,  also,  for  I  was  mortified  to 


144  KATIA. 

think  what  opinion  the  prince  must  have  formed 
of  me,  and  more  especially  of  Sergius.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  every  one  must  have  observed 
my  embarrassment  while  I  was  talking  with  the 
prince,  and  also  his  very  singular  manner ;  "  God 
knows,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  what  interpretation 
may  be  put  upon  it;  could  any  one  happen  to 
know  of  my  wrangle  with  my  husband  ?"  My 
cousin  took  me  home,  and  on  the  way  we  were 
talking  about  him.  I  could  not  resist  telling  her 
all  that  had  passed  between  us  in  regard  to  this 
unfortunate  reception.  She  soothed  me  by  assur- 
ances that  it  was  only  one  of  those  frequent 
quarrels,  which  signify  nothing  at  all  and  leave  no 
result  behind  them ;  and  in  explaining  my  hus- 
band's character  from  her  point  of  view,  she 
spoke  of  him  as  extremely  reserved  and  proud. 
I  agreed  with  her,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that,  after 
this,  I  comprehended  his  character  more  clearly 
and  much  more  calmly. 

But  afterwards,  when  we  were  again  alone  to- 
gether, this  judgment  of  mine  with  regard  to  him 
appeared  to  me  a  real  crime,  which  weighed  upon 


KATIA.  145 

my  conscience,  and  I  felt  that  the  gulf  between 
us  was  widening  more  and  more. 

From  this  day  on,  our  life  and  our  mutual  re- 
lations suffered  a  complete  change.  Being  alone 
together  was  no  longer  a  delight  to  us.  Th,ere 
were  subjects  to  be  avoided,  and  it  was  easier  for 
us  to  talk  to  each  other  in  the  presence  of  a  third 
person.  If  in  the  course  of  conversation  any  al- 
lusion chanced  to  be  made,  either  to  life  in  the 
country,  or  to  balls,  dazzling  wild-fire  seemed  to 
dance  before  our  eyes  and  make  us  afraid  to  look 
at  each  other;  I  knew  that  his  embarrassment  was 
as  great  as  my  own ;  we  both  realized  how  far 
asunder  we  were  thrust  by  that  dividing  gulf,  and 
dreaded  drawing  nearer.  I  was  persuaded  that 
he  was  passionate  and  proud,  and  that  I  must  be 
very  careful  not  to  run  against  his  weak  points. 
And,  on  his  part,  he  was  convinced  that  I  could 
not  exist  outside  of  the  life  of  the  world,  that  a 
home  in  the  country  did  not  suit  me  at  all,  and 
that  he  must  resign  himself  to  this  unhappy  pre- 
dilection. Therefore  we  both  shunned  any  direct 
conversation  upon  such  subjects,  and  each  erro- 


146  KATIA. 

neously  judged  the  other.  We  had  long  ceased 
to  be  respectively,  in  each  other's  eyes,  the  most 
perfect  beings  in  this  world ;  on  the  contrary,  we 
were  beginning  to  compare  each  other  with  those 
around  us,  and  to  measure  with  secret  apprecia- 
tion our  own  characters. 


KATIA.  147 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

I  HAD  been  very  unwell  before  we  left  St. 
Petersburg,  and  instead  of  going  home  we  moved 
into  a  villa  at  a  short  distance  from  the  city, 
where  my  husband  left  me  while  he  went  to  see 
his  mother.  I  was  then  quite  well  enough  to  ac- 
company him,  but  he  urged  me  not  to  do  so,  al- 
leging as  his  reason  my  state  of  health.  I  quite 
understood  that  he  was  not  really  afraid  of  my 
health,  but  he  was  possessed  by  the  idea  that 
it  would  not  be  good  for  us  to  be  in  the  country ; 
I  did  not  insist  very  strenuously,  and  remained 
where  I  was.  Without  him  I  felt  myself  truly  in 
the  midst  of  emptiness  and  isolation ;  but  when 
he  returned  I  perceived  that  his  presence  no 
longer  added  to  my  life  what  it  had  been  wont  to 
add.  Those  former  relations,  when  any  thought, 
any  sensation,  not  communicated  to  him,  op- 
pressed me  like  a  crime ;  when  all  his  actions,  all 


148  KATIA. 

his  words,  appeared  to  me  models  of  perfection ; 
when,  from  sheer  joy,  we  would  laugh  at  nothing, 
looking  at  each  other;  those  relations  had  so  in- 
sensibly changed  into  something  quite  different, 
that  we  ourselves  hardly  admitted  the  transforma- 
tion. But  the  fact  was  that  each  of  us  had  now 
separate  occupations  and  interests,  which  we  no 
longer  sought  to  share.  We  had  even  ceased  to 
be  at  all  troubled  at  thus  living  in  entirely  distinct 
worlds,  and  entirely  as  strangers  to  each  other. 
We  had  become  habituated  to  this  thought,  and 
at  the  end  of  a  year  there  was  no  longer  the  mu- 
tual embarrassment  when  our  eyes  chanced  to 
meet.  His  boyishness,  his  outbursts  of  light- 
hearted  gaiety  when  with  me,  were  gone ;  gone, 
too,  was  that  indulgent  indifference,  against  which 
I  had  so  often  risen  in  rebellion ;  nor  had  the 
penetrating  look  survived,  which,  in  other  days, 
had  at  once  disturbed  and  delighted  me;  there 
were  no  more  of  the  prayers,  no  more  of  the 
hours  of  exaltation  which  we  had  so  loved  to 
share,  and  indeed  we  saw  each  other  only  very 
rarely ;  he  was  constantly  out,  and  I  no  longer 


KATIA.  '  149 

dreaded  remaining  alone,  no  longer  complained 
of  it;  I  was  perpetually  engrossed,  on  my  side, 
with  the  obligations  of  society,  and  never  felt  any 
need  of  him  whatever. 

Scenes  and  altercations  between  us  were  quite 
unheard-of.  I  endeavored  to  satisfy  him,  he  car- 
ried out  all  my  wishes,  any  one  would  have  said 
that  we  still  loved  each  other. 

When  we  were  alone  together,  which  was  of 
rare  occurrence,  I  felt  neither  joy,  agitation,  nor 
embarrassment,  in  his  presence,  any  more  than  if 
I  had  been  alone.  I  knew  well  that  here  was 
no  new-comer,  no  stranger,  but  on  the  contrary, 
a  very  excellent  man,  in  short  my  husband, 
whom  I  knew  just  as  well  as  I  knew  myself. 
I  was  persuaded  that  I  could  tell  beforehand 
all  that  he  would  do,  all  that  he  would  think, 
precisely  what  view  he  would  take  of  any  mat- 
ter, and  if  he  did  or  thought  otherwise  I  only 
considered  that  he  made  a  mistake;  I  never 
expected  anything  at  all  from  him.  In  one  word, 
it  was  my  husband,  that  was  all.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  things  were  so,  and  had  to  be  so ;  that 


ISO  KATIA. 

no  other  relations  between  us  could  exist,  or 
indeed  ever  had  existed.  When  he  went  away, 
especially  at  first,  I  still  felt  terribly  lonely,  and 
while  he  was  absent  I  felt  the  full  value  of  his 
support;  when  he  came  home,  I  would  even 
throw  myself  in  his  arms  with  joy ;  but  scarcely 
had  two  hours  elapsed  ere  I  had  forgotten  this 
joy,  and  would  find  that  I  had  nothing  to  say  to 
him.  In  these  brief  moments,  when  calm,  tem- 
perate tenderness  seemed  to  revive  between  us,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  there  never  had  been  anything 
but  this ;  that  this  alone  was  what  had  once  so 
powerfully  stirred  my  heart,  and  I  thought  I  read 
in  his  eyes  the  same  impression.  I  felt  that  to 
this  tenderness  there  was  a  limit,  which  he  did 
not  wish  to  pass,  and  neither  did  I.  Sometimes 
this  caused  me  a  little  regret,  but  I  had  no  time 
to  think  about  it  seriously,  and  I  tried  to  put 
it  out  of  my  mind,  by  giving  myself  up  to  a 
variety  of  amusements  of  which  I  did  not  even 
render  a  clear  account  to  myself,  but  which  per- 
petually offered  themselves  to  me.  The  life  in 
the  world,  which,  at  first,  had  bewildered  me  with 


KATIA.  151 

its  splendor  and  the  gratification  it  afforded  to 
my  self-love,  had  soon  established  entire  dominion 
over  my  inclinations,  and  become  at  once  a  habit 
and  a  bondage,  occupying  in  my  soul  that  place 
which  I  had  fancied  would  be  the  home  of  senti- 
ment. Therefore  I  avoided  being  alone,  dreading 
lest  it  might  force  me  to  look  into  and  realize  my 
condition.  My  whole  time,  from  the  earliest  hour 
in  the  morning  till  the  latest  at  night,  was  appro- 
priated to  something;  even  if  I  did  not  go  out, 
there  was  no  time  that  I  left  free.  I  found  in  this 
life  neither  pleasure,  nor  weariness,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  it  had  always  been  thus. 

In  this  manner  three  years  passed  away,  and 
our  relations  with  each  other  remained  the  same, 
benumbed,  congealed,  motionless,  as  if  no  altera- 
tion could  come  to  them,  either  for  better  or 
worse.  During  the  course  of  these  three  years 
there  were  two  important  events  in  the  family,  but 
neither  brought  any  change  to  my  own  life. 
These  events  were  the  birth  of  my  first  child,  and 
the  death  of  Tatiana  Semenovna.  At  first  the 
maternal  sentiment  took  possession  of  me  with 


152  KATIA. 

such  power,  so  great  and  unexpected  a  rapture 
seized  upon  me,  that  I  imagined  a  new  existence 
was  beginning;  but  at  the  end  of  two  months, 
when  I  commenced  to  go  into  society  once  more, 
this  sentiment,  which  had  been  gradually  subsid- 
ing, had  become  nothing  more  than  the  habitual 
and  cold  performance  of  a  duty.  My  husband,  on 
the  contrary,  from  the  day  of  this  son's  birth,  had 
become  his  old  self,  gentle,  calm,  and  home-loving, 
recalling  for  his  child,  all  his  former  tenderness 
and  gaiety.  Often  when  I  went  in  my  ball- 
dress  into  the  child's  nursery,  to  give  him  the 
evening  benediction  before  starting  and  found  my 
husband  there,  I  would  catch  a  glance  of  re- 
proach, or  a  severe  and  watchful  look  fixed  upon 
me,  and  I  would  all  at  once  feel  ashamed.  I  was 
myself  terrified  at  my  indifference  towards  my 
own  child,  and  I  acked  myself:  "  Can  I  be  so 
much  worse  than  other  women  ?  —  But  what  is 
to  be  done  ?"  I  questioned.  "  Of  course  I  love 
my  son,  but,  for  all  that,  I  cannot  sit  down  beside 
him  for  whole  days  at  a  time,  that  would  bore  me 
to  death ;  and  as  for  making  a  pretence,  nothing 


KATIA.  153 

in  the  world  would  induce  me  to  do  such  a 
thing !" 

The  death  of  my  husband's  mother  was  a 
great  grief  to  him ;  it  was  very  painful  to  him,  he 
said,  to  live  after  her  at  Nikolski,  but  though  I 
also  regretted  her  and  really  sympathized  with 
his  sorrow,  it  would  have  been  at  that  time  more 
agreeable,  more  restful  to  me,  to  return  and  make 
our  residence  there.  We  had  passed  the  greater 
part  of  these  three  years  in  the  city ;  once  only 
had  I  been  at  Nikolski,  for  a  visit  of  two  months ; 
and  during  the  third  year  we  had  been  abroad. 

We  passed  this  summer  at  the  baths. 

I  was  then  twenty- one  years  of  age.  We 
were,  I  thought,  prosperous ;  from  my  home  life 
I  expected  no  more  than  it  had  already  given 
me ;  all  the  people  whom  I  knew,  it  seemed  to 
me,  loved  me ;  my  health  was  excellent,  I  knew 
that  I  was  pretty,  my  toilettes  were  the  freshest  at 
the  baths,  the  weather  was  superb,  an  indefinable 
atmosphere  of  beauty  and  elegance  surrounded 
me,  and  everything  appeared  to  me  in  the  highest 
degree  delightful  and  joyous.  Yet  I  was  not, 


154  KATIA. 

as  light-hearted  as  I  had  been  in  the  old  days 
at  Nikolski,  when  I  had  felt  that  my  happiness 
was  within  myself,  when  I  was  happy  because 
I  deserved  to  be  so,  when  my  happiness  was 
great  but  might  be  greater  still.  Now  all  was 
different ;  nevertheless  the  summer  was  charm- 
ing. I  had  nothing  to  desire,  nothing  to  hope, 
nothing  to  fear ;  my  life,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  was 
at  its  full,  and  my  conscience,  it  also  seemed  to 
me,  was  entirely  clear. 

Among  the  men  most  conspicuous  at  the 
baths  during  this  season,  there  was  not  one 
whom,  for  any  reason  whatever,  I  preferred  above 
the  others,  not  even  old  Prince  K.  our  ambassa- 
dor, who  paid  me  distinguished  attention.  One 
was  too  young,  another  was  too  old,  this  one  was 
an  Englishman  with  light  curly  hair,  that  one,  a 
bearded  Frenchman ;  I  was  perfectly  indifferent 
to  all,  but,  at  the  same  time,  all  were  indispens- 
able to  me.  Insignificant  as  they  might  be,  they 
yet  belonged  to,  and  formed  a  part  of,  this  life  of 
elegance  surrounding  me,  this  atmosphere  in 
which  I  breathed.  However,  there  was  one 


KATIA.  155 

among  them,  an  Italian,  Marquis  D.  who,  by  the 
bold  fashion  in  which  he  showed  the  admiration 
he  felt  for  me,  had  attracted  my  attention  more 
than  the  others.  He  allowed  no  occasion  to 
escape  him  of  meeting  me,  dancing  with  me, 
appearing  on  horseback  beside  me,  accompany- 
ing me  to  the  casino,  and  he  was  constantly  tell- 
ing me  how  beautiful  I  was.  From  my  window  I 
sometimes  saw  him  wandering  around  our  house, 
and  more  than  once  the  annoying  persistence 
of  the  glances  shot  towards  me  from  his  flashing 
eyes  had  made  me  blush  and  turn  away. 

He  was  young,  handsome,  elegant ;  and  one 
remarkable  thing  about  him  was  his  extraordinary 
resemblance  to  my  husband,  especially  in  his 
smile  and  something  about  the  upper  part  of  the 
face,  though  he  was  the  handsomer  man  of  the 
two.  I  was  struck  by  the  likeness,  in  spite  of  de- 
cided differences  in  some  particulars,  in  the  mouth 
for  instance,  the  look,  the  longer  shape  of  the 
chin ;  and  instead  of  the  charm  given  to  my  hus- 
band's face  by  his  expression  of  kindness  and 
ideal  calmness,  there  was  in  the  other  something 


156  KATIA. 

gross  and  almost  bestial.  After  a  while  I  could 
not  help  seeing  that  he  was  passionately  in  love 
with  me ;  I  sometimes  found  myself  thinking  of 
him  with  lofty  pity.  I  undertook  to  tranquillize 
him,  and  bring  him  down  to  terms  of  cordial  con- 
fidence and  friendship,  but  he  repelled  these  at- 
tempts with  trenchant  disdain,  and,  to  my  great 
discomfiture,  continued  to  show  indications  of  a 
passion,  silent,  indeed,  as  yet,  but  momentarily 
threatening  to  break  forth.  Although  I  would 
not  acknowledge  it  to  myself,  I  was  afraid  of  this 
man,  and  seemed,  against  my  own  will,  as  it 
were,  forced  to  think  of  him.  My  husband  had 
made  his  acquaintance,  and  was  even  more  inti- 
mate with  him  than  with  most  of  our  circle,  with 
whom  he  confined  himself  to  being  simply  the 
husband  of  his  wife,  and  to  whom  his  bearing  was 
haughty  and  cold. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  season  I  had  a  slight 
illness,  which  confined  me  to  the  house  for  two 
weeks.  The  first  time  I  went  out,  after  my  re- 
covery, was  to  listen  to  the  music  in  the  evening, 
and  I  was  at  once  told  of  the  arrival  of  Lady  C.  a 


KATIA.  157 

noted  beauty,  who  had  been  expected  for  some 
time.  A  circle  of  friends  quickly  gathered 
around  me,  eagerly  welcoming  me  once  more 
among  them,  but  a  yet  larger  circle  was  forming 
about  the  new  belle,  and  everybody  near  me 
was  telling  me  about  her  and  her  beauty.  She 
was  pointed  out  to  me ;  a  beautiful  and  bewitch- 
ing woman,  truly,  but  with  an  expression  of  con- 
fidence and  self-sufficiency  which  impressed  me 
unpleasantly,  and  I  said  so.  That  evening, 
everything  that  usually  seemed  so  bright  and  de- 
lightful was  tiresome  to  me.  The  following  day 
Lady  C.  organized  an  expedition  to  the  castle, 
which  I  declined.  Hardly  any  one  remained 
behind  with  me,  and  the  aspect  of  affairs  was 
decidedly  changed  to  my  eyes.  All,  men  and 
things,  seemed  stupid  and  dull ;  I  felt  like  crying, 
and  resolved  to  complete  my  cure  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible and  go  home  to  Russia.  At  the  bottom  of 
my  heart  lurked  bad,  malevolent  feelings,  but  I 
would  not  confess  it  to  myself.  I  said  that  I  was 
not  well,  making  that  a  pretext  for  giving  up  so- 
ciety. I  very  seldom  went  out,  and  then  only  in 


158  KATIA. 

the  morning,  alone,  to  drink  the  waters,  or  for  a 
quiet  walk  or  drive  about  the  environs  with  L.  M., 
one  of  my  Russian  acquaintances.  My  husband 
was  absent  at  this  time,  having  gone,  some  days 
before,  to  Heidelberg,  to  wait  there  until  the  end 
of  my  prescribed  stay  should  allow  our  return  to 
Russia,  and  he  came  to  see  me  only  now  and 
then. 

One  day  Lady  C.  had  carried  off  most  of  the 
company  on  some  party  of  pleasure,  and  after 
dinner  L.  M.  and  I  made  a  little  excursion  to 
the  castle  by  ourselves.  While  our  carriage  was 
slowly  following  the  winding  road  between  the 
double  rows  of  chestnuts,  centuries  old,  between 
whose  gray  trunks  we  saw  in  the  distance  the  ex- 
quisite environs  of  Baden,  lying  in  the  purple 
light  of  the  setting  sun,  we  unconsciously  fell  into 
a  serious  strain  of  conversation,  which  had  never 
before  been  the  case  with  us.  L.  M.,  whom  I 
had  known  so  long,  now  for  the  first  time  ap- 
peared to  me  as  a  lovely  intelligent  woman,  with 
whom  one  could  discuss  any  topic  whatever,  and 
whose  society  was  full  of  charm  and  interest. 


KATIA.  159 

We  talked  about  family  duties  and  pleasures, 
children,  the  vacuous  life  led  in  such  places  as  we 
were  now  in,  our  desire  to  return  to  Russia,  to  the 
country,  and  we  both  fell  into  a  grave,  gentle 
mood,  which  was  still  upon  us  when  we  reached 
the  castle.  Within  its  broken  walls  all  was  in 
deep  shadow,  cool  and  still,  the  summits  of  the 
towers  were  yet  in  the  sunlight,  and  the  least 
sound  of  voice  or  footstep  re-echoed  among  the 
arches.  Through  the  doorway  we  saw  the  beau- 
tiful stretch  of  country  surrounding  Baden,  — 
beautiful,  yet  to  our  Russian  eyes,  cold  and  stern. 
We  sat  down  to  rest,  silently  watching  the 
sinking  sun.  Presently  we  heard  voices,  they 
grew  more  distinct,  and  I  thought  I  caught  my 
own  name.  I  listened  involuntarily,  and  heard  a 
few  words.  I  recognized  the  voices ;  they  were 
those  of  the  Marquis  D.  and  of  a  Frenchman,  his 
friend,  whom  I  also  knew.  They  were  talking 
about  me  and  Lady  C.  The  Frenchman  was 
comparing  one  with  the  other,  and  analyzing  our 
beauty.  He  said  nothing  objectionable,  yet  I  felt 
the  blood  rush  to  my  heart  as  he  spoke.  He  en- 


I6O  KATIA. 

tered  into  detail  as  to  what  he  found  attractive  in 
both  Lady  C.  and  myself.  As  for  me,  I  was  al- 
ready a  mother,  while  Lady  C.  was  but  nineteen 
years  of  age ;  my  hair  was  more  beautiful,  but 
Lady  C.'s  was  more  gracefully  arranged;  Lady 
C.  was  more  the  high  born  dame  "  while  yours," 
he  said,  alluding  to  me,  "  is  one  of  the  little  prin- 
cesses so  often  sent  us  by  Russia."  He  concluded 
by  saying  that  it  was  very  discreet  in  me  not  to 
attempt  to  contest  the  field  with  Lady  C.,  for,  if  I 
did,  I  most  assuredly  would  find  Baden  my 
burial-place. 

This  cut  me  to  the  quick. 

"  Unless  she  chose  to  console  herself  with 
you  !"  added  the  Frenchman  with  a  gay,  cruel 
laugh. 

"  If  she  goes,  I  shall  follow,"  was  the  coarse 
reply  of  the  voice  with  the  Italian  accent. 

"  Happy  mortal !  he  can  still  love !"  com- 
mented the  other,  mockingly. 

"  Love !"  the  Italian  was  silent  a  moment, 
then  went  on.  "  I  cannot  help  loving  !  Without 
love  there  is  no  life.  To  make  of  one's  life  a  ro- 


KATIA.  l6l 

mance,  — ^that  is  the  only  good.  And  my  ro- 
mances never  break  off  in  the  middle ;  this  one, 
like  the  others,  I  will  carry  out  to  the  end." 

"  Good  luck,  my  friend !"  said  the  French- 
man. 

I  heard  no  more  for  the  speakers  seemed  to 
turn  the  angle  of  the  wall,  and  their  steps  receded 
on  the  other  side.  They  descended  the  broken 
stairs,  and  in  a  few  moments  emerged  from  a  side- 
door  near  us,  showing  much  surprise  at  the  sight 
of  us.  I  felt  my  cheeks  flame  when  Marquis  D. 
approached  me,  and  was  confused  and  frightened 
at  his  offering  me  his  arm  upon  our  leaving  the 
castle.  I  could  not  refuse  it,  and  following  L.  M. 
who  led  the  way  with  his  friend,  we  went  down 
towards  the  carriage.  I  was  indignant  at  what  the 
Frenchman  had  said  of  me,  though  I  could  not 
help  secretly  admitting  that  he  had  done  nothing 
but  put  into  language  what  I  myself  had  already 
felt,  but  the  words  of  the  marquis  had  confounded 
and  revolted  me  by  their  grossness.  I  was  tor- 
tured by  the  thought  of  having  heard  them, 
and  at  the  same  time  I  had  suddenly  lost  all 


162  KATIA. 

fear  of  him.  I  was  disgusted  at  feeling  him  so 
near  me;  without  looking  at  him,  without  answer- 
ing him,  trying,  though  I  still  had  his  arm,  to 
keep  so  far  from  him  that  I  could  not  hear  his 
whispers,  I  walked  on  quickly,  close  behind  L.  M. 
and  the  Frenchman.  The  marquis  was  talking 
about  the  lovely  view,  the  unexpected  delight  of 
meeting  me,  and  I  know  not  what  besides,  but  I 
did  not  listen  to  him.  The  whole  time  I  was 
thinking  about  my  husband,  my  son,  Russia; 
divided  feelings  of  shame  and  pity  took  hold  of 
me,  and  I  was  possessed  by  a  desire  to  hurry 
home,  to  shut  myself  up  in  my  solitary  room  in 
the  Hotel  de  Bade,  where  I  might  be  free  to  re- 
flect upon  all  that  seemed  so  suddenly  to  have 
risen  up  within  my  soul.  But  L.  M.  was  walking 
rather  slowly,  the  carriage  was  still  some  distance 
away,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  my  escort  was 
obstinately  slackening  our  pace,  as  if  he  meant  to 
be  left  alone  with  me.  "  That  shall  not  be !"  I 
said  to  myself,  quickening  my  steps.  But  he  tin- 
disguiscdly  kept  me  back,  holding  my  arm  with  a 
close  pressure ;  at  this  moment  L.  M.  turned  a 


KATIA.  163 

corner  of  the  road,  and  we  were  left  alone.  I  was 
seized  with  alarm. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  I  coldly,  drawing  my  arm 
out  of  his,  but  the  lace  caught  on  one  of  his  but- 
tons. He  stooped  towards  me  to  disengage  it, 
and  his  ungloved  fingers  rested  on  my  arm.  A 
new  sensation  —  not  fright,  certainly  not  pleasure 
—  sent  a  chill  shiver  through  me.  I  looked  up  at 
him,  meaning  my  glance  to  express  all  the  cold 
contempt  I  felt  for  him ;  but  instead  of  this,  he 
seemed  to  read  in  it  only  agitation  and  alarm. 
His  ardent,  humid  eyes  were  fixed  passionately 
upon  me,  his  hands  grasped  my  wrists,  his  half- 
open  lips  were  murmuring  to  me,  telling  me  that 
he  loved  me,  that  I  was  everything  to  him,  his 
hold  upon  me  growing  stronger  and  closer  with 
every  word.  I  felt  fire  in  my  veins,  my  vision  was 
•obscured,  I  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  and  the 
words  I  tried  to  utter  died  away  in  my  throat. 
Suddenly  I  felt  a  kiss  upon  my  cheek  ;  I  shivered, 
and  looked  into  his  face  again,  powerless  to  speak 
or  stir,  expecting  and  wishing  I  knew  not  what. 

It  was  only  an  instant.     But  this  instant  was 


1 64  KATIA. 

terrible  !  In  it  I  saw  him  as  he  was,  I  analyzed 
his  face  at  a  glance :  low  brow,  straight  correct 
nose  with  swelling  nostrils,  fine  beard  and  mus- 
tache waxed  and  pointed,  cheeks  carefully  shaven, 
brown  neck.  I  hated  him,  I  feared  him,  he  was 
a  stranger  to  me ;  nevertheless,  at  this  moment, 
how  powerfully  the  emotion  and  passion  of  this 
detestable  man,  this  stranger,  was  re-echoing 
within  me! 

"  I  love  you !"  was  the  murmur  of  the  voice 
so  like  my  husband's.  My  husband  and  my 
child,  —  hurriedly  my  mind  flashed  to  them,  as 
beings  dearly  loved,  once  existent,  now  gone,  lost, 
done  with.  But  suddenly  from  around  the  turn 
of  the  road  I  heard  L.  M.'s  voice  calling  me.  I 
recovered  myself,  snatched  away  my  hands  with- 
out looking  at  him,  and  almost  flew  to  rejoin  her. 
Not  until  we  were  in  the  caleche  did  I  glance  back 
at  him.  He  took  off  his  hat,  and  said  something 
tome  —  I  know  not  what  —  smiling.  He  little 
knew  what  inexpressible  torture  he  made  me  en- 
dure at  that  moment. 

Life   appeared    so    miserable,    the    future  so 


KATIA.  165 

desperate,  the  past  so  sombre !  L.  M.  talked  to 
me,  but  I  did  not  understand  one  word  she  was 
saying.  It  seemed  as  though  she  was  only  talk- 
ing to  me  from  compassion,  and  to  hide  the 
contempt  she  felt.  I  thought  I  read  this  con- 
tempt, this  insulting  compassion  in  every  word, 
every  glance.  That  kiss  was  burning  into  my 
cheek  with  cutting  shame,  and  to  think  of  my 
husband  and  child  was  insupportable  to  me. 
Once  alone  in  my  chamber,  I  hoped  to  be  able  to 
meditate  upon  my  situation,  but  I  found  it  was 
frightful  to  remain  alone.  I  could  not  drink  the 
tea  that  was  brought  me,  and  without  know- 
ing why,  hurriedly  I  decided  to  take  the  even- 
ing train  for  Heidelberg,  to  rejoin  my  hus- 
band. When  I  was  seated  with  my  maid  in 
the  empty  compartment,  when  the  train  was  at 
last  in  motion,  and  I  breathed  the  fresh  air 
rushing  in  through  the  empty  windows,  I  be- 
gan to  be  myself  again,  and  to  think  with 
some  degree  of  clearness  over  my  past  and  my 
future.  All  my  married  life,  from  the  day  of 
our  departure  for  St.  Petersburg,  lay  before  me 


1 66  KATIA. 

in  a  new  light,  that  of  awakened   and   accusing 
conscience.  • 

For  the  first  time,  I  vividly  recalled  the  com- 
mencement of  my  life  in  the  country,  my  plans  ; 
for  the  first  time,  the  thought  came  to  my  mind  : 
how  happy  he  was  then !  And  I  suddenly  felt 
guilty  towards  him.  "  But  then,  why  not  check 
.  me,  why  dissimulate  before  me,  why  avoid  all  ex- 
planation, why  insult  me  ?"  I  asked  myself.  "  Why 
not  use  the  power  of  his  love  ?  But  perhaps 
he  no  longer  loved  me  ?" — Yet,  whether  he 
was  to  blame  or  not,  here  was  this  on  my  cheek, 
this  kiss  which  I  still  felt.  The  nearer  I  came 
to  Heidelberg,  and  the  more  clearly  my  hus- 
band's image  presented  itself,  the  more  terrible 
became  the  imminent  meeting  with  him.  "  I  will 
tell  him  all,  all ;  my  eyes  will  be  blinded  with 
tears  of  repentance,"  thought  I,  "  and  he  will  for- 
give me."  But  I  did  not  myself  know  what  was 
this  "all "  that  I  was  going  to  tell  him,  nor  was  I 
absolutely  sure  that  he  would  forgive  me.  In  fact, 
when  I  entered  his  room  and  saw  his  face,  so 
tranquil  despite  its  surprise,  I  felt  no  longer  able 


KATIA.  167 

to  tell  him  anything,  to  confess  anything,  to  en- 
treat his  forgiveness  for  anything.  An  unspeaka- 
ble sorrow  and  deep  repentance  were  weighing  me 
down. 

"  What  were  you  thinking  of?"  he  said  :  "  I 
intended  joining  you  at  Baden  to-morrow."  But 
a  second  glance  at  me  seemed  to  startle  him.  "  Is 
anything  wrong  ?  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?" 
he  exclaimed. 

"Nothing,"  I  replied,  keeping  back  my  tears. 
"  I  have  come  away  ...  I  am  not  going  back  .  .  . 
Let  us  go  —  to-morrow  if  we  can  —  home  to 
Russia !" 

He  was  silent  for  some  time,  watching  me 
narrowly. 

"  Come,  tell  me  what  has  occurred,"  he  said, 
at  length. 

I  felt  my  face  grow  scarlet,  and  my  eyes  sank. 
His  were  glittering  with  an  indefinable  foreboding, 
and  hot  anger.  I  dreaded  the  thoughts  which 
might  be  assailing  him,  and,  with  a  power  of  dis- 
simulation of  which  I  could  not  have  believed 
myself  capable,  I  made  haste  to  answer : 


1 68  KATIA. 

"  Nothing  has  occurred,  —  but  I  was  over- 
whelmed by  weariness  and  dejection  ;  I  was  alone, 
I  began  to  think  of  you,  and  of  our  life.  How 
long  I  have  been  to  blame  towards  you !  After 
this,  you  may  take  me  with  you  wherever  you 
wish !  Yes,  I  have  long  been  to  blame,"  I  re- 
peated, and  my  tears  began  to  fall  fast.  "  Let  us 
go  back  to  the  country,"  I  cried,  "  and  for- 
ever !" 

"  Ah !  my  love,  spare  me  these  sentimental 
scenes,"  said  he,  coldly;  "for  you  to  go  to  the 
country  will  be  all  very  well,  just  now,  for  we  are 
running  a  little  short  of  money ;  but  as  for  its 
being  '  forever,'  that  is  but  a  notion :  I  know  you 
could  not  stay  there  long !  Come,  drink  a  cup  of 
tea,  — that  is  the  best  thing  to  do,"  he  concluded, 
rising  to  call  a  servant. 

I  could  not  help  imagining  what  his  thoughts 
of  me  doubtless  were,  and  I  felt  indignant  at  the 
frightful  ideas  which  I  attributed  to  him  as  I  met 
the  look  of  shame  and  vigilant  suspicion  which 
he  bent  upon  me.  No,  he  will  not,  and  he  can- 
not comprehend  me !  .  .  .  I  told  him  that  I  was 


KATIA.  169 

going  to  see  the  child,  and  left  him.     I  longed  to 
be  alone,  and  free  to  weep,  weep,  weep.  .  . 


CHAPTER  IX. 

OUR  house  at  Nikolski,  so  long  cold  and  de- 
serted, came  to  life  again ;  but  the  thing  which 
did  not  come  to  life  was  our  old  existence. 
Mamma  was  there  no  longer,  and  henceforth  we 
were  alone,  we  two  alone  with  each  other.  But  not 
only  was  solitude  no  longer  to  us  what  it  had  once 
been,  but  we  found  it  a  burden  and  constraint. 
The  winter  passed  all  the  more  drearily  for  me 
from  my  being  out  of  health,  and  it  was  not  until 
some  time  after  the  birth  of  my  second  son  that  I 
recovered  my  strength. 

My  relations  with  my  husband  continued  cold 
and  friendly,  as  at  St.  Petersburg ;  but  here  in 
the  country  there  was  not  a  floor,  not  a  wall,  not 
a  piece  of  furniture,  which  did  not  remind  me  of 


1 70  KATIA. 

what  he  had  been  to  me,  and  what  I  had  lost. 
There  stood  between  us,  as  it  were,  an  offence  not 
forgiven ;  one  would  have  said  that  he  wished  to 
punish  me  for  something,  and  that  he  was  pretend- 
ing to  himself  to  be  unconscious  of  it.  How  could 
I  ask  forgiveness  without  knowing  for  what  fault  ? 
He  only  punished  me  by  no  longer  entirely  giving 
himself  up  to  me,  by  no  longer  surrendering  to 
me  his  whole  soul ;  but  to  no  one,  and  under  no 
circumstances,  was  his  soul  surrendered,  any  more 
than  if  he  had  none.  It  sometimes  came  into  my 
head  that  he  was  only  making  a  pretence  of  being 
what  he  now  was,  in  order  to  torment  me,  and 
that  his  feelings  were  in  reality  what  they  had 
formerly  been,  and  I  tried  to  provoke  him  into 
letting  this  be  seen ;  but  he  invariably  eluded 
all  frank  explanation ;  one  would  have  said  that 
he  suspected  me  of  dissimulation,  and  dreaded 
all  manifestations  of  tenderness  as  attempts  to 
ridicule  him.  His  looks  and  his  air  seemed  to 
say :  "  I  know  all,  there  is  nothing  to  tell  me  ;  all 
that  you  would  confide  to  me,  I  already  know ;  I 
know  that  you  talk  in  one  manner  and  act  in 


KATIA.  I/I 

another."  At  first  I  was  hurt  by  his  apparent 
fear  of  being  frank  with  me,  but  I  soon  accus- 
tomed myself  to  the  thought  that  in  him  this  was 
not  so  much  lack  of  frankness,  as  lack  of  necessity 
for  frankness. 

And  on  my  side,  my  tongue  was  no  longer 
capable  of  telling  him  impulsively,  as  in  the  old 
days,  that  I  loved  him,  of  asking  him  to  read  the 
prayers  with  me,  of  calling  him  to  listen  to  my 
music  when  I  was  going  to  play ;  there  seemed 
to  be  certain  rules  of  formality  tacitly  decreed  be- 
tween us.  We  lived  our  own  lives ;  he,  with 
his  various  interests  and  occupations,  in  which  I 
no  longer  claimed  nor  desired  a  share ;  I,  with  my 
idle  hours,  about  which  he  no  longer  seemed  to 
trouble  himself.  As  for  the  children,  they  were 
still  too  young  to  be  in  any  way  a  bond  between 
us. 

Spring  came.  Macha  and  Sonia  returned  to 
the  country  for  the  summer ;  and  as  Nikolski  was 
undergoing  repairs,  we  went  with  them  to  Pok- 
rovski.  The  same  old  home,  the  terrace,  the 
out-of-door  tea-table,  the  piano  in  the  half- 


KATIA. 


lighted  room,  my  own  old  chamber  with  its  white 
curtains,  and  the  girlish  dreams  which  seemed 
to  have  been  left  behind  there,  forgotten.  In 
this  chamber  were  two  beds;  over  one,  which 
had  been  my  own,  I  now  bent  nightly  to  bless 
my  sturdy  Kokocha,*  in  the  midst  of  his  bed- 
time frolics  ;  in  the  other  lay  little  Vasica,  t  his 
baby-face  rosy  with  sleep,  under  the  soft  white 
blankets.  After  giving  the  benediction,  I  often 
lingered  a  long  time  in  this  peaceful  chamber, 
and  from  every  corner  of  its  walls,  from  every 
fold  of  its  curtains,  came  stealing  around  me  for- 
gotten visions  of  my  youth  ;  childish  songs,  gay 
choruses,  floated  again  to  my  ears.  And  what 
were  they  now,  —  these  visions?  Were  they  sound- 
ing still,  anywhere,  —  these  glad  and  sweet  old 
songs  ?  All  that  I  had  hardly  dared  to  hope  had 
come  true.  My  vague  and  confused  dreams  had 
become  reality,  and  it  was  now  my  life,  so  hard, 
so  heavy,  so  stripped  of  joy.  And  yet  here 
around  me  were  not  all  things  as  before  ?  Was 
it  not  the  same  garden  that  I  saw  beneath  my 

*  Diminutive  of  Nicolas.  t  Yvan. 


KATIA.  J73 

window,  the  same  terrace,  the  same  paths  and 
benches?  Far  off  there,  across  the  ravine,  the 
songs  of  the  nightingales  still  seemed  to  rise  out  of 
the  ripples  of  the  little  pond,  the  lilacs  bloomed  as 
they  used  to  do,  the  moon  still  stood  in  white 
glory  over  the  corner  of  the  house,  yet  for  me  all 
was  so  changed,  so  changed  !  Macha  and  I  had 
our  old  quiet  talks,  sitting  together  as  of  old  in 
the  salon,  and  we  still  talked  of  him.  But  Macha's 
brow  was  grave,  her  face  was  wan,  her  eyes  no 
longer  shone  with  contentment  and  hope,  but  were 
full  of  sad  sympathy,  and  almost  expressed  com- 
passion. We  no  longer  went  into  ecstasies  over 
him,  as  in  the  past;  we  judged  him,  now;  we  no 
longer  marvelled  at  our  great  happiness  and  won- 
dered how  it  came  to  be  ours,  we  no  longer  had 
the  impulse  to  tell  all  the  world  what  we  felt ;  we 
whispered  in  each  other's  ear  like  conspirators; 
for  the  hundredth  time  we  asked  each  other  why 
all  was  so  sad,  so  changed.  As  for  him,  he  was 
still  the  same,  except  that  the  line  between  his 
brows  was  deeper,  and  his  temples  were  more 
silvery,  and  his  eyes,  watchful,  deep,  continually 


174  KATIA. 

turned  away  from  me,  were  darkened  by  a 
shadow.  I,  too,  was  still  the  same,  but  I  no 
longer  felt  either  love  or  desire  to  love.  No  more 
wish  to  work,  no  more  satisfaction  with  myself. 
And  how  far  off,  how  impossible,  now  appeared 
my  old  religious  fervor,  my  old  love  for  him,  my 
old  fulness  of  life !  I  could  not,  now,  even  com- 
prehend what  in  those  days  was  so  luminous  and 
so  true:  the  happiness  of  living  for  others.  Why 
for  others  ?  when  I  no  longer  wished  to  live  for 
myself.  .  .  . 

I  had  entirely  given  up  my  music  during  our 
residence  in  St.  Petersburg,  but  now  my  old 
piano  and  my  old  pieces  brought  back  the  love 
for  it. 

One  day  when  I  was  not  feeling  well,  I  stayed 
at  home,  alone,  while  Macha  and  Sonia  went  with 
my  husband  to  see  the  improvements  at  Nikolski. 
The  tea-table  was  set,  I  went  down-stairs,  and, 
while  waiting  for  them,  seated  myself  at  the 
piano.  I  opened  the  sonata  Quasi  tina  fantasia, 
and  began  to  play.  No  living  creature  was  to  be 
seen  or  heard,  the  windows  were  open  upon  the 


KATIA.  175 

garden ;  the  familiar  notes,  so  sad  and  penetra- 
ting, resounded  through  the  room.  I  concluded 
the  first  part,  and  unconsciously,  simply  from  old 
habit,  I  looked  across  to  the  corner  where  he 
used  to  sit  and  listen  to  me.  But  he  was  no 
longer  there,  a  long-unmoved  chair  occupied  his 
old  place ;  from  the  side  of  the  open  window  a 
projecting  branch  of  lilac  stood  out  against  the 
burning  west,  the  evening  air  stole  quietly  in.  I 
leaned  my  elbows  on  the  piano,  covered  my  face 
with  both  hands,  and  fell  into  a  fit  of  musing.  I 
remained  there  a  long  time,  mournfully  recalling 
the  old  days,  irrevocably  gone,  and  timidly  look- 
ing at  the  days  to  come.  But  hereafter,  it 
seemed  to  me,  there  could  be  nothing,  I  could 
hope  nothing,  desire  nothing.  "  Is  it  possible 
that  I  have  outlived  all  that !"  thought  I,  raising 
my  head  with  horror,  and  in  order  to  forget  and 
to  cease  thinking,  I  began  to  play  again,  and  still 
the  same  old  andante.  "  My  God !"  I  said, 
"pardon  me  if  I  am  guilty,  or  give  back  to  my 
soul  what  made  its  beauty  ....  or  teach  me 
what  I  ought  to  do,  —  how  I  ought  to  live !" 


176  KATIA. 

The  sound  of  wheels  echoed  on  the  turf  and 
before  the  door,  then  I  heard  on  the  terrace  steady 
steps,  well-known  to  me,  then  all  was  quiet. 
But  it  was  no  longer  the  old  feeling  which 
stirred  in  me  at  these  familiar  footsteps.  They 
came  up  behind  me  when  I  had  finished  the 
sonata,  and  a  hand  was  laid  upon  my  shoulder. 

"  A  happy  thought,  to  play  the  old  sonata !" 
he  said. 

I  made  no  answer. 

"  Have  not  you  had  tea  ?" 

i 

I  shook  my  head,  without  turning  towards 
him,  for  I  did  not  want  him  to  see  the  traces  of 
agitation  on  my  face. 

"They  will  be  here  presently;  the  horses 
were  a  little  unruly,  and  they  are  coming  home 
on  foot,  by  the  road,"  he  continued. 

"  We  will  wait  for  them,"  I  said,  going  out  on 
the  terrace,  in  the  hope  that  he  would  follow,  but 
he  inquired  for  the  children,  and  went  up  to  see 
them.  Once  more,  his  presence,  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  so  kind,  so  honest,  dissuaded  me  from 
believing  that  all  was  lost  for  me.  "  What  more 


KATIA.  177 

is  there  to  desire  ?"  I  thought :  "he  is  good  and 
true,  he  is  an  excellent  husband,  an  excellent 
father,  and  I  do  not  myself  know  what  is  miss- 
ing, —  what  I  want." 

I  went  out  on  the  balcony,  and  sat  down 
under  the  awning  of  the  terrace,  on  the  same 
bench  where  I  was  sitting  upon  the  day  of  our 
decisive  explanation  long  ago.  The  sun  was 
nearly  down,  dusk  was  gathering ;  a  shade  of 
spring  softened  the  pure  sky,  where  one  tiny 
spark  was  already  gleaming.  The  light  wind  had 
died  away,  not  a  leaf  or  blade  of  grass  stirred ; 
the  perfume  of  the  lilacs  and  cherry-trees,  so 
powerful  that  one  might  have  thought  all  the 
air  itself  was  in  bloom,  came  in  puffs  over  garden 
and  terrace,  now  faint  and  now  full,  making  one 
feel  an  impulse  to  close  the  eyes,  to  shut  out  all 
sight  and  sound,  to  banish  every  sensation  save 
that  of  inhaling  this  exquisite  fragrance.  The 
dahlias  and  rose-bushes,  yet  leafless,  stood  in  still 
lines  in  the  newly-dug  black  mould  of  their  beds, 
lifting  their  heads  above  their  white  props.  From 
afar  came  the  intermittent  notes  of  the  nightin- 


1/8  KATIA. 

gales,  or  the  rush  of  their  restless  flight  from  place 
to  place. 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  strove  to  calm  myself,  I 
seemed  to  be  waiting  and  wishing  for  something. 

Sergius  came  from  up-stairs,  and  sat  down 
beside  me. 

"  I  believe  it  is  going  to  rain,"  he  said,  "  they 
will  get  wet." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied ;  and  we  were  both  silent. 

In  the  meantime,  the  cloud,  without  any 
wind,  had  crept  slowly  and  stealthily  above  our 
heads;  nature  was  yet  more  perfectly  tranquil, 
sweet,  and  still :  suddenly  one  drop  fell,  and,  so 
to  speak,  rebounded,  upon  the  linen  of  the  awn- 
ing, another  rolled,  a  growing  ball  of  dust,  along 
the  path ;  then,  with  a  sound  like  deadened  hail, 
came  the  heavy  dash  of  rain,  gathering  force 
every  moment.  At  once,  as  if  by  concert,  frog's 
and  nightingales  were  silent ;  but  the  light  plash 
of  the  fountain  was  still  heard  beneath  the  beat- 
ing of  the  rain,  and  far  off  in  the  distance  some 
little  bird,  no  doubt  safe  and  dry  under  a  shelter- 
ing bough,  chirped  in  monotonous  rhythm  his 


KATIA.  179 

two  recurring  notes.  Sergius  rose  to  go  into  the 
house. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?"  said  I,  stopping 
him.  "  It  is  so  delightful  here  !" 

"  I  must  send  an  umbrella  and  some  over- 
shoes." 

"  It  is  not  necessary,  this  will  be  over  di- 
rectly." 

He  assented,  and  we  remained  standing  to- 
gether by  the  balustrade  of  the  balcony.  I  put 
my  hand  on  the  wet  slippery  rail,  and  leaned 
forward  into  the  rain,  the  cool  drops  falling 
lightly  on  my  hair  and  neck.  The  cloud,  bright- 
ening and  thinning,  scattered  in  shining  spray 
above  us,  the  regular  beat  of  the  shower  was 
succeeded  by  the  sound  of  heavy  drops  falling 
more  and  more  rarely  from  the  sky  or  from  the 
trees.  The  frogs  resumed  their  croaking,  the 
nightingales  shook  their  wings  and  began  again 
to  respond  to  each  other  from  behind  the  glisten- 
ing shrubs,  now  on  one  side,  now  on  another. 
All  was  serene  again  before  us. 

"  How  good  it  is  to  live !"  he  said,  leaning 


1 80  KATIA. 

over  the  balustrade  and  passing  his  hand  over 
my  wet  hair. 

This  simple  caress  acted  on  me  like  a  re- 
proach, and  I  longed  to  let  my  tears  flow. 

"What  more  can  a  man  need?"  continued 
he.  "  I  am  at  this  moment  so  content,  that  I  feel 
nothing  wanting,  and  I  am  completely  happy !" 

("  You  did  not  speak  so  to  me  when  to  hear 
it  would  have  made  my  happiness,"  I  thought. 
"  However  great  yours  was,  then,  you  used  to 
say  that  you  wished  for  more  of  it.  still  more. 
And  now  you  are  calm  '  and  content,  when  my 
soul  is  full  of  inexpressible  repentance  and  unsat- 
isfied tears !") 

"  To  me,  too,  life  is  good,"  said  I,  "  and  it  is 
precisely  because  it  is  so  good  to  me,  that  I  am 
sad.  I  feel  so  detached,  so  incomplete;  I  am 
always  wanting  some  other  thing,  and  yet  every- 
thing here  is  so  good,  so  tranquil!  Can  it  be 
possible  that  for  you  no  sorrow  ever  seems  min- 
gled with  your  pleasure  in  life  ?  —  as  if,  for  in- 
stance, you  were  feeling  regret  for  something  in 
the  past?" 


KATIA.  I8l 

He  drew  away  the  hand  resting  on  my  head, 
and  was  silent  for  a  moment 

"Yes,  that  has  been  the  case  with  me,  for- 
merly, particularly  in  the  spring,"  he  said,  as  if 
searching  his  memory.  "  Yes,  I  also  have  spent 
whole  nights  in  longings  and  fears,  —  and  what 
beautiful  nights  they  were !  .  .  .  .  But  then,  all 
was  before  me,  and  now  all  is  behind ;  now  I  am 
content  with  what  is,  and  that  to  me  is  perfec- 
tion," he  concluded,  with  such  easy  frankness  of 
manner,  that,  painful  as  it  was  to  hear,  I  was 
convinced  that  it  was  the  truth. 

"Then  you  desire  nothing  more?"  I  ques- 
tioned. 

"'Nothing  impossible,"  he  replied,  divining 
my  thought.  "  How  wet  you  have  made  your 
head,"  he  went  on,  caressing  me  like  a  child,  and 
passing  his  hand  again  over  my  hair ;  "  you  are 
jealous  of  the  leaves  and  grass  which  the  rain  was 
falling  on ;  you  would  like  to  be  the  grass  and 
the  leaves  and  the  rain ;  while  I  —  I  enjoy  sim- 
ply seeing  them,  as  I  do  seeing  whatever  is  good, 
young,  happy." 


1 82  KATIA. 

"  And  you  regret  nothing  in  the  past  ?"  I 
persisted,  with  the  dull  weight  on  my  heart 
growing  heavier  and  heavier. 

He  seemed  to  muse  for  a  moment,  keeping 
silent.  I  saw  that  he  wished  to  answer  hon- 
estly. 

"  No !"  he  said,  at  length,  briefly. 

"That  is  not  true !  that  is  not  true !"  I  cried, 
turning  and  facing  him,  with  my  eyes  fixed  upon 
his.  "  You  do  not  regret  the  past  ?" 

"  No  !"  he  repeated.  "  I  bless  it,  but  I  do  not 
regret  it." 

"  And  you  would  not  wish  to  go  back  to  it  ?" 

He  turned  away,  looking  out  over  the  garden. 

"  I  no  more  wish  that  than  I  would  wish  to 
have  wings.  It  cannot  be." 

"And  you  would  not  re-make  this  past?  And 
you  reproach  neither  yourself,  nor  me  ?" 

"  Never  !  all  has  been  for  the  best." 

"  Listen  !"  said  I,  seizing  his  hand  to  force 
him  to  turn  towards  me.  "  Listen  !  Why  did  you 
never  tell  me  what  you  wished  from  me,  that  I 
might  have  lived  exactly  as  you  desired  ?  Why 


KATIA.  183 

did  you  give  me  a  liberty  which  I  knew  not 
how  to  use  ?  why  did  you  cease  to  teach  me  ?  If 
you  had  wished  it,  if  you  had  cared  to  guide  me 
differently,  nothing,  nothing  would  have  hap- 
pened," I  went  on,  in  a  voice  which  more  and 
more  energetically  expressed  anger  and  reproach, 
with  none  of  the  former  love. 

"  What  is  it  that  would  not  have  happened  ?" 
said  he  with  surprise,  turning  towards  me. 
"  There  has  been  nothing.  All  is  well,  very  well," 
he  repeated  smiling. 

"  Can  it  be  possible,"  I  thought,  that  he  does 
not  understand  me  ?  "  or,  worse  still,  that  he  will 
not  understand  me  ?"  and  my  tears  began  to  fall. 

"  This  would  have  happened,  — that,  not  hav- 
ing made  me  guilty  towards  you,  you  would  not 
have  punished  me  by  your  indifference,  your  con- 
tempt," I  broke  out.  "  What  would  not  have 
happened  is  seeing  myself,  with  no  fault  on  my 
own  part,  suddenly  robbed  by  you  of  all  that  was 
dear  to  me." 

"What  are  you  saying,  my  darling?"  he  ex- 
claimed, as  if  he  had  not  understood  my  words. 


1 84  KATIAW 

"  No,  let  me  finish  !  You  have  robbed  me  of 
your  confidence,  your  love,  even  of  your  esteem, 
and  this  because  I  ceased  to  believe  that  you  still 
loved  me  after  what  had  taken  place  !  No,"  I 
went  on,  checking  him  again  as  he  was  about  to 
interrupt  me,  "  for  once  I  must  speak  out  all  that 
has  been  torturing  me  so  long !  Was  I  to  blame 
because  I  did  not  know  life,  and  because  you  left 
me  to  find  it  out  for  myself?  .  .  .  And  am  I  to 
blame  that  now,  —  when  at  last  I  comprehend, 
of  myself,  what  is  necessary  in  life ;  now,  when 
for  more  than  a  year  I  have  been  making  a  strug- 
gle to  return  to  you, — you  constantly  repulse 
me,  constantly  pretend  not  to  know  what  I 
want  ?  and  things  are  so  arranged  that  there  is 
never  anything  for  you  to  reproach  yourself  with, 
while  I  am  left  to  be  miserable  and  guilty  ?  Yes, 
you  would  cast  me  back  again  into  that  life 
which  must  make  wretchedness  for  me  and  for 
you  !" 

"  And  how  am  I  doing  that  ?"  he  asked,  with 
sincere  surprise  and  alarm. 

"  Did  not  you  tell  me  yesterday,  —  yes,  you 


KATIA.  185 

tell  me  so  perpetually,  —  that  the  life  here  does 
not  suit  me,  and  that  we  must  go  to  St.  Peters- 
burg again  for  the  winter  ?  Instead  of  supporting 
me,"  I  continued,  "  you  avoid  all  frankness  with 
me,  any  talk  that  is  sweet,  and  real.  And  then 
if  I  fall,  you  Avill  reproach  me  with  it,  or  you  will 
make  light  of  it !" 

"  Stop,  stop,"  he  said  severely  and  coldly ; 
*'  what  you  are  saying  is  not  right.  It  only  shows 
that  you  are  badly  disposed  towards  me,  that  you 
do  not.  .  ." 

"  That  I  do  not  love  you  !  say  it!  say  it,  then!" 
I  exclaimed,  blind  with  my  tears.  I  sat  down  on 
the  bench,  and  covered  my  face  with  my  hand- 
kerchief. 

"  That  is  the  way  he  understands  me !"  I 
thought,  trying  to'  control  my  choking  sobs.  "  It 
is  all  over  with  our  old  love  !"  said  the  voice  in  my 
heart.  He  did  not  come  near  me,  and  made  no 
attempt  to  console  me.  He  was  wounded  by  what 
I  had  said.  His  voice  was  calm  and  dry,  as  he 
began : 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  have  to  reproach 


186  KATIA. 

me  with,  except  that  I  do  not  love  you  as  I  used 
to  do  !" 

"  As  you  used  to  love  me  !..."!  murmured 
under  my  handkerchief,  drenching  it  with  bitter 
tears. 

"  And  for  that,  time  and  ourselves  are  equally 
guilty.  For  each  period  there  is  one  suitable 
phase  of  love.  .  ." 

He  was  silent. 

"  And  shall  I  tell  you  the  whole  truth,  since 
you  desire  frankness  ?  Just  as,  during  that  first 
year  of  our  acquaintance,  I  spent  night  after  night 
without  sleep,  thinking  of  you  and  building  up  my 
own  love,  until  it  grew  to  fill  all  my  heart,  so  in 
St.  Petersburg  and  while  we  were  abroad  I  spent 
fearful  nights  in  striving  to  break  down  and  de- 
stroy this  love  which  was  my  torment.  I  could 
not  destroy  it,  but  I  did  at  least  destroy  the  ele- 
ment which  had  tormented  me ;  I  became  tran- 
quil, and  yet  I  continued  to  love  you,  —  but  it 
was  with  another  love." 

"  And  you  call  that  love,  when  it  was  nothing 
but  a  punishment  !"  I  replied.  "  Why  did  you 


KATIA.  187 

let  me  live  in  the  world,  if  it  appeared  to  you  so 
pernicious  that  because  of  it  you  would  cease  to 
love  me  ?" 

"  It  was  not  the  world,  my  dear,  that  was 
the  guilty  one." 

"  Why  did  you  not  use  your  power  ?  Why 
did  you  not  strangle  me  ?  Murder  me  ?  That 
would  have  been  better  for  me  to-day  than  to- 
have  lost  all  that  made  my  happiness,  —  it  would 
have  been  better  for  me,  and  at  least  there  would 
not  have  been  the  shame  !" 

I  began  to  sob  again,  and  I  covered  my 
face. 

Just  at  that  moment  Macha  and  Sonia,  wet 
and  merry,  ran  up  on  the  terrace,  laughing  and 
talking;  but  at  the  sight  of  us  their  voices  were 
hushed,  and  they  hurried  into  the  house. 

We  remained  where  we  were,  for  a  long  time, 
silent ;  after  they  were  gone,  I  sobbed  on  until  my 
tears  were  exhausted  and  I  felt  somewhat  calmer. 
I  looked  at  him.  He  was  sitting  with  his  head 
resting  on  his  hand,  and  appeared  to  wish  to  say 
something  to  me  in  response  to  my  glance,  but  he 


1 88  KATIA. 

only  gave  a  heavy  sigh  and  put  his  head  down 
again. 

I  went  to  him  and  drew  his  hand  away.  He 
turned  then,  and  looked  at  me  thoughtfully. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  as  if  pursuing  his  own 
thoughts,  "  for  all  of  us,  and  particularly  for  you 
women,  it  is  necessary  that  we  should  ourselves 
lift  to  our  own  lips  the  cup  of  the  vanities  of  life, 
before  we  can  taste  life  itself;  no  one  believes 
the  experience  of  others.  You  had  not,  at  that 
time,  dipped  very  deep  into  the  science  of  those 
entrancing  and  seducing  vanities.  Therefore  I 
allowed  you  to  plunge  for  a  moment ;  I  had 
no  right  to  forbid  it,  simply  because  my  own  hour 
for  it  was  long  since  over." 

"  Why  did  you  let  me  live  among  these  vani- 
ties, if  you  loved  me  ?" 

"Because  you  would  not  —  nay,  more,  you 
could  not  —  have  believed  me  about  them;  it  was 
necessary  for  you  to  learn  for  yourself;  and  you 
have  learned." 

"  You  reasoned  a  great  deal,"  said  I.  "  That 
was  because  you  loved  me  so  little." 


KATIA.  1 89 

We  were  silent  again. 

"  What  you  have  just  said  to  me  is  hard,  but 
it  is  the  truth,"  he  resumed,  after  a  while,  rising 
abruptly,  and  beginning  to  walk  about  the  ter- 
race ;  "  yes,  it  is  the  truth  !  I  have  been  to 
blame,"  he  went  on,  stopping-  before  me  .  .  . 
"  Either  I  ought  not  to  have  let  myself  love  you 
at  all,  or  I  ought  to  have  loved  you  more  sim- 
ply,—yes!" 

"  Sergius,  let  us  forget  everything,"  said  1^ 
timidly. 

"  No,  what  is  gone  never  comes  again,  there 
can  be  no  turning  back.  .  ."  his  voice  softened  as 
he  spoke. 

"  It  has  already  come  again,"  said  I,  laying 
my  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

He  took  the  hand  in  his,  and  pressed  it. 

"  No,  I  was  not  telling  the  truth,  when  I  pre- 
tended not  to  regret  the  past;  no,  I  do  regret 
your  past  love  ;  I  bitterly  mourn  over  it,  —  this 
love,  which  can  no  longer  exist.  Who  is  to 
blame  ?  I  do  not  know.  Love  there  may  even 
yet  be,  but  not  the  same ;  its  place  is  still  there. 


I9O  KATIA. 

but  darkened  and  desolated ;  it  is  without  savor 
and  without  strength ;  the  remembrance  has  not 
vanished,  nor  the  gratitude,  but.  .  ." 

"  Do  not  speak  so,"  I  interrupted.  "  Let  it 
come  to  life  again,  let  it  be  what  it  was  .  .  .  Might 
that  be  ?"  I  asked,  looking  into  his  face.  His  eyes 
were  serene,  quiet,  and  met  mine  without  their  old 
deep  look. 

Even  as  I  asked  the  question  I  felt  the  answer, 
felt  that  my  wish  was  no  longer  possible  to  realize. 
He  smiled ;  it  seemed  to  me  an  old  man's  smile, 
gentle  and  full  of  peace. 

"  How  young  you  still  are,  and  how  old  I  am 
already  !"  he  said.  "  Why  delude  ourselves  ?" 
he  added,  still  with  the  same  smile. 

I  remained  near  him,  silent,  and  feeling  my 
soul  grow  more  and  more  tranquil. 

"  Do  not  let  us  try  to  repeat  life,"  he  went  on, 
"  nor  to  lie  to  ourselves.  But  it  is  something,  to 
have  no  longer,  God  willing,  either  disquiet  or  dis- 
tress. We  have  nothing  to  seek  for.  We  have 
already  found,  already  shared,  happiness  enough. 
All  we  have  to  do  now  is  to  open  the  way, — 


KATIA.  IQI 

you  see  to  whom  ..."  he  said,  pointing  out  little 
Vania,  in  his  nurse's  arms,  at  the  terrace  door. 
"  That  is  necessary,  dear  love,"  he  concluded, 
bending  over  me  and  dropping  a  kiss  on  my  hair. 

It  was  no  longer  a  lover,  it  was  an  old  friend 
who  gave  the  caress. 

The  perfumed  freshness  of  night  was  rising, 
sweeter  and  stronger,  from  the  garden ;  the  few 
sounds  audible  were  solemn  and  far  off,  and  soon 
gave  way  to  deep  tranquillity;  one  by  one  the 
stars  shone  out.  I  looked  at  him,  and  all  at  once 
I  became  conscious  of  infinite  relief  in  my  soul ;  it 
was  as  if  a  moral  nerve,  whose  sensitiveness  had 
caused  me  keen  suffering  had  suddenly  been 
removed.  Quietly  and  clearly  I  comprehended 
that  the  dominant  sentiment  of  this  phase  of  my 
existence  was  irrevocably  gone,  as  was  the  phase 
itself,  and  that  not  only  was  its  return  impossi- 
ble, but  that  it  would  be  to  me  full  of  unendur- 
able pain.  There  had  been  enough  of  this  time; 
and  had  it  indeed  been  so  good,  —  this  time, 
which  to  me  had  seemed  to  enclose  such  joys  ? 
And  already  it  had  lasted  so  long,  so  long ! 


192  KATIA. 

"But  tea  is  waiting,"  he  said,  gently;  and  we 
went  together  to  the  drawing-room. 

At  the  door  I  met  Macha,  and  the  nurse  with 
Vania.  I  took  the  child  in  my  arms,  wrapped  up 
the  little  bare  feet,  and,  holding  it  close  to  my 
heart,  barely  touched  its  lips  with  a  light  kiss. 
Almost  asleep  as  it  was,  it  moved  its  little  arms, 
stretched  out  the  crumpled  fingers,  and  opened  its 
bewildered  eyes,  as  if  trying  to  find  or  remember 
something;  all  at  once  its  eyes  fell  on  me,  a  look 
of  intelligence  sparkled  in  them,  and  the  pink 
pursed-up  lips  lengthened  in  a  baby  smile.  "You 
are  mine,  mine  !"  thought  I,  with  a  delicious  thrill 
running  through  me,  and  as  I  strained  it  to  my 
heart  I  was  half  afraid  of  hurting  it  with  my 
eager  embrace.  Over  and  over  I  kissed  its  cold 
little  feet,  its  breast,  its  arms,  and  head  with  the 
scant  covering  of  down.  My  husband  came  up 
to  us,  quickly  drew  the  wrapping  over  the  baby's 
face,  then,  drawing  it  away  again : 

"  Ivan  Sergevitch !"  he  said  with  finger  under 
the  little  chin. 

But  I,  in  my  turn,  covered  up  Ivan  Sergevitch. 


KATIA.  193 

No  one  should  look  at  him  so  long,  except  myself. 
I  glanced  at  my  husband,  his  eyes  laughed  as  they 
rested  on  mine,  and  it  was  long  since  I  had  met 
his  with  such  happy  joy. 

This  day  ended  my  romance  with  my  husband. 
The  old  love  remained,  and  the  dear  remembrance 
of  what  could  never  come  back  to  me  ;  but  a  new 
love  for  my  children  and  my  children's  father,  began 
another  life  and  another  way  of  happiness,  up  to 
this  hour  unending  .  .  .  for  at  last  I  know  that  in 
home,  and  in  the  pure  joys  of  home  will  be 
found  —  real  happiness  ! 


THE  END. 


WAR   AND    PEACE.      A    Historical    Novel,    by    Count    Le"oa 

Tolstoi,  translated  into  French  by  a  Russian  Lady  and  from  the 

French  by  Clara   Bell.    Authorized  Edition.     Complete,   Three 

Parts  in  Box.     Paper,  $3.00.     Cloth,  $5.25.       Half  calf,  $12.00. 

Parti.    Before  Tilsit,  1805  — 1807,  in  two  volumes.     Paper,  $1.00. 

Cloth,  $1.75  per  set. 
"  II.    The  Invasion,    1807 — 1812   in  two  volumes.     Paper,  $1.00. 

Cloth,  $1.75  per  set. 

"in.    Borodino,  The  French  at  Moscow  — Epilogue,  1812 — 1820, 
in  two  volumes.     Paper,  $1.00.     Cloth,  $1.75  per  set, 


OPINIONS   OF    THE   PRESS. 


"A  story  of  Russia  in  the  time  of  Napoleon's  wars.  It  is  a 
story  of  the  family  rather  than  of  the  field,  and  is  charming  in  its 
delineations  of  quaint  Russian  customs.  It  is  a  novel  of  absorb- 
ing interest,  full  of  action  and  with  a  well  managed  plot;  a 
book  well  worth  reading." — Philadelphia  Enquirer. 


"The  story  of  'War  and  Peace'  ranks  as  the  greatest  of 
Slavic  historical  novels.  It  is  intensely  dramatic  in  places  and 
the  battle  scenes  are  marvels  of  picturesque  description.  At 
other  points  the  vein  is  quiet  and  philosophical,  and  the  reader 
is  held  by  the  soothing  charm  that  is  in  complete  contrast  with 
the  action  and  energy  of  battle. " — Observer,  Utica}  N.  Y. 


"War  and  Peace  is  a  historical  novel  and  is  extremely  inter- 
esting, not  only  in  its  description  of  the  times  of  the  great  inva- 
sion eighty  years  ago,  but  in  its  vivid  pictures  of  life  aad  character 
in  Russia." — Journal  of  Commerce,  New  York. 


"On  general  principles  the  historical  novel  is  neither  valua- 
ble as  fact  nor  entertaining  as  fiction.  But  '  War  and  Peace'  is 
a  striking  exception  to  this  rule.  It  deals  with  the  most  impres- 
sive and  dramatic  period  of  European  history.  It  reproduces  a 
living  panorama  of  scene,  and  actors,  and  circumstance  idealized 
into  the  intense  and  artistic  life  of  imaginative  composition,  and 
written  with  a  brilliancy  of  style  and  epigrammatic  play  of 
thought,  a  depth  of  significance,  that  render  the  story  one  of 
the  most  fascinating  and  absorbing.  "—Boston  Evening  Traveller. 

Wm.  S.  Gottsberger,  Publisher,  New  York, 


THE  COSSACKS.— A  Tale  of  the  Caucasus  in  1852,  by 
Count  Leo  Tolstoy,  from  the  Russian  by  Eugene 
Schuyler.  One  vol.  Paper,  50  cts.  Cloth  binding.  $1.00. 


"The  Cossacks"  forms  the  culmination  of  the  period  in 
which  he  photographed  with  miraculous  realism  and  no  definite 
purpose,  detached  pictures  of  life  and  studies  of  the  affections, 
and  the  period  in  which  he  began  to  see  and  suggest  the  spiritual 
meaning  of  and  the  chain  of  ultimate  purpose  binding  together 
the  panorama  of  human  existence.  The  book  is  an  idyl  of  semi- 
barbarous  life  and  yet  the  hero  begins  to  struggle  with  the  prob- 
lems that  puzzled  Sergius,  that  Levin  half  solved,  and  from 
which  Tolstoi  himself  escapes  in  a  Quaker  creed. 

Olenin  is  a  young  Russian  noble  whose  career  has  simulated 
outwardly  that  of  his  companions,  but  whose  soul  has  been  un- 
satisfied and  empty,  driving  him  finally  to  break  away  from  his 
old  associations  and  go  for  a  campaign  in  the  Caucasus.  With 
that  campaign  the  story  does  not  concern  itself,  going  on  to  its 
conclusion  when  the  young  man  settles  down  in  a  Cossack  village 
to  wait  for  his  promotion.  This  portion  of  the  book  is  inimitable 
for  the  slight,  almost  imperceptible  touches  through  which  Tol- 
stoi has  the  power,  greater  than  that  of  any  one  else,  of  reproduc- 
ing the  actual  scene  he  wishes  to  transcribe.  This  power  can 
scarcely  be  called  realism.  It  might  be  better  characterized  as 
realization.  It  is  possible  in  this  way  to  know  the  exact  life  of  this 
brave,  indolent,  good-tempered,  healthful  race  of  half-Russians, 
half-Circassians,  and  to  feel  the  charm  they  possessed  for  Olenin. 
It  is  a  curious  fact  that  the  most  civilized  natures  are  most  akin 
to  barbarism.  The  simple  directness  of  barbaric  virtues,  the 
healthy  passion  and  aggressiveness  of  its  vices  make  the  process 
of  atavism  easy  to  a  nature  that  has  risen  above  the  mere  material- 
ism of  civilization.  The  process  of  this  reversion  in  Olenin  is 
hastened,  of  course,  by  love  for  a  Cossack  woman,  one  of  those 
clean-minded  girls  who  think  no  harm  in  a  kiss  or  caress,  but 
whose  virtue  is  an  absolute  and  natural  thing  that  admits  of 
no  question  or  discussion.  His  love  is  not  of  the  kind  that  could 
mean  her  dishonor,  and  he  asks  for  Marianka's  hand  in  marriage, 
feeling  helplessly  and  hopelessly  all  the  while  that  real  union  is 
impossible  between  them  —  that  though  he  can  understand  her 
and  go  down  into  her  semi-barbarism,  she  can  never  know  him  or 
appreciate  the  motives  that  impel  him  to  leave  a  state  that  she 
considers  higher  than  her  own.  The  story  ends  abruptly  and 
what  is  called  by  the  professional  novel-reader  "unsatisfactorily." 
Marianka  clings  in  preference  to  her  Cossack  lover,  and  Olenin 
feeling  despairingly  that  this  rude,  simple,  barbarous  life  can 
never  absorb,  can  only  encyst  him,  goes  back  to  his  duties  at  the 
front. — New  York  //<»•/</. 


THE 

EBERS   GALLERY 

A  COLLECTION  OF  PAINTINGS 

ILLUSTRATING  THE 

ROMANCES    OF    GEORG    EBERS 

BY  THE   FOLLOWING  ARTISTS 

L.  ALMA-TADEMA,   W.  A.  BEER,  W.  GENTZ,   P.  GROT-JOHANN, 

H.  KAULBACH,    FERD.  KELLER,    O.  KNILLE,     F.  SIMM, 

LAURA  TADEMA,   E.  TESCHENDORFF,   P.  THUMANN. 


TWENTY    ILLUSTRATIONS 

WITH  DESCRIPTIVE  LETTER-PRESS 
Printed  from  handsome  large   new    type  on  plate-paper 


Photographic  Reproduction  by  Friedrich   Bruckmann  of  Munich 


IN  LOOSE  SHEETS,  in  cloth  covered  box,  -  -  $22.50 

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William  S.  Gottsbcrger,  Publisher,  New  York. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  THE  NILE,  A  ROMANCE,  BY 
Georg  Ebers,  from  the  German  by  CLARA  BELL.  Au- 
thorized edition,  in  two  volumes.  Price,  paper  covers,  $1.00, 
cloth  binding,  $1.75  per  set. 


"THIS  romance  has  much  value,  apart  from  its  interest  as  a 
narrative.  The  learned  author,  who  has  made  the  Land  of  the 
Nile  an  object  of  special  study  and  research,  throws  a  clear, 
steady  light  on  one  of  those  complicated  periods  of  history  when 
nationality  seems  submerged  in  the  conflicting  interests  of  sects 
and  factions.  The  history  of  Egypt  towards  the  middle  of  the 
seventh  century,  A.  D.,  forms  a  sort  of  historical  whirlpool.  The 
tide  of  Moslem  invasion  and  the  counter-current  of  patriotism 
were  temporarily  swayed  by  the  intermingling  currents  of  sectar- 
ianism, ecclesiasticism  and  individual  self-interest. 

"All  the  leading  characters  a:-s  typical  of  these  contending 
forces,  and  also  display  an  unreasoning  impulsiveness  in  both 
love  and  hatred,  characteristic  of  a  tropical  clime. 

"  The  Egyptian  heathen,  the  Egyptian  Christian,  the  Greek 
Christian,  the  Moslem  and  Ethiopian  show  the  feelings  peculiar 
to  their  political  conditions  by  word  and  act,  thus  making  their 
relationship  to  one  another  very  distinct,  and  though  not  an  his- 
torical study,  at  least  a  study  of  the  probabilities  of  that  epoch. 
It  is  also  a  reliable  picture  of  the  manners,  customs  and  civiliza- 
tion of  a  period  less  generally  known  than  those  remote,  and 
consequently  more  attractive  periods  of  the  building  of  the  pyra- 
mids, and  of  the  Pharoahs. 

"  The  portrayal  of  individual  character  and  arrangement  of 
incidents  are  necessarily  secondary  to  the  higher  aims  of  this  en- 
tertaining and  instructive  romance.  It  is  only  towards  the  end 
of  the  second  volume  that  the  significance  of  the  title  becomes 
apparent.  The  '  Bride '  was  a  Greek  Christian  doomed  by  the 
superstitious  authorities  to  be  drowned  in  the  Nile  as  a  sacrifice 
to  appease  the  anger  of  the  creative  powers,  supposed  to  be  with- 
holding the  usual  overflow  of  its  waters.  She  escaped  her  watery 
fate,  and  her  rival,  an  unprincipled  heiress,  became  a  voluntary 
sacrifice  through  vanity  and  despair.  This  author  has  already 
won  much  renown  by  previous  romances  founded  on  interesting 
epochs  of  Egyptian  history. — Daily  Alta,  California. 

William  S.   Gottsberger,  Publisher,  New   York. 


THE  MARTYR  OF  GOLGOTHA,  by  Enrique 
Perez  Escrich,  from  the  Spanish  by  Adele  Josephine 
Godoy,  in  two  volumes.  Price,  paper  covers,  $1.00.  Cloth 
binding,  $1.7$. 


"There  must  always  be  some  difference  of  opinion  concern- 
ing the  right  of  the  romancer  to  treat  of  sacred  events  and  to  in- 
troduce sacred  personages  into  his  story.  Some  hold  that  any  attempt 
to  embody  an  idea  of  our  Saviour's  character,  experiences,  sayings 
and  teachings  in  the  form  of  fiction  must  have  tiae  effect  of  lower- 
ing our  imaginative  ideal,  and  rendering  trivial  and  common-place 
that  which  in  the  real  Gospel  is  spontaneous,  inspired  and  sublime. 
But  to  others  an  historical  novel  like  the  '  Martyr  of  Golgotha' 
comes  like  a  revelation,  opening  fresh  vistas  of  thought,  filling  out 
blanks  and  making  clear  what  had  hitherto  been  vague  and  unsat- 
isfactory, quickening  insight  and  sympathy,  and  actually  heighten- 
ing the  conception  of  divine  traits.  The  author  gives  also  a  wide 
survey  of  the  general  history  of  the  epoch  and  shows  the  various 
shaping  causes  which  were  influencing  the  rise  and  development 
of  the  new  religion  in  Palestine.  There  is,  indeed,  an  astonishing 
vitality  and  movement  throughout  the  work,  and,  elaborate  though 
the  plot  is,  with  all  varieties  and  all  contrasts  of  people  and  con- 
ditions, with  constant  shiftings  of  the  scene,  the  story  yet  moves, 
and  moves  the  interest  of  the  reader  too,  along  the  rapid  current 
of  events  towards  the  powerful  culmination.  The  writer  uses  the 
Catholic  traditions,  and  in  many  points  interprets  the  story  in  a 
way  which  differs  altogether  from  that  familiar  to  Protestants  :  for 
example,  making  Mary  Magdalen  the  same  Mary  who  was  the 
sister  of  Lazarus  and  Martha,  and  who  sat  listening  at  the  Saviour's 
feet.  But  in  general,  although  there  is  a  free  use  made  of  Catho- 
lic legends  and  traditions,  their  effort  is  natural  and  pleasing.  The 
romance  shows  a  degree  of  a  southern  fervor  which  is  foreign  to 
English  habit,  but  the  flowery,  poetic  style  —  although  it  at  first 
repels  the  reader — is  so  individual,  so  much  a  part  of  the  author, 
that  it  is  soon  accepted  as  the  naive  expression  of  a  mind  kindled 
and  carried  away  by  its  subject,  Spanish  literature  has  of  late 
given  us  a  variety  of  novels  and  romances,  all  of  which  are  in  their 
way  so  good  that  we  must  believe  that  there  is  a  new  generation  of 
writers  in  Spain  who  are  discarding  the  worn-out  forms  and  tra- 
ditions, and  are  putting  fresh  life  and  energy  into  works  which 
will  give  pleasure  to  the  whole  world  of  readers."  —  Philadelphia 
American,  March  5,  1887. 

William  S.   Gottsberger,  Publisher,  New   York. 


THE  KING'S  TREASURE  HOUSE.- A  Romance  of 
Ancient  Egypt,  by  Wilhelm  Wallotll,  from  the  German 
by  Mary  J.  Safford,  in  one  vol.  Paper,  50  cts.  Cloth,  90  cts. 


"  It  deals,  in  the  main,  with  the  cruel  bondage  of  the  Israelites 
in  Egypt,  and  is  remarkably  varied  in  incident  and  impressive  in 
dramatic  power.  The  interest  is  uncommonly  exciting,  and  is 
sustained  with  great  skill  to  the  very  end.  A  fine  poetic  feeling 
pervades  the  narrative,  and  the  descriptive  portions  of  the  book 
often  glow  with  picturesque  splendor.  The  work  is  also  very  at- 
tractive in  the  cleverness  and  the  vividness  with  which  the  manners 
and  people  of  ancient  Egypt  are  depicted,  showing  in  this  aspect 
careful  thought  and  study.  The  story  may  take  a  foremost  rank 
in  the  long  line  of  German  romances  which  have  aimed  at  repro- 
ducing the  life  of  antiquity." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette, 
May  23,  1886. 


THE  CHALDEAN  MAGICIAN.— An  Adventure  in 
Ancient  Rome,  by  Ernst  Eckstein,  from  the  German  by 
Mary  J.  Safford.  One  vol.  Paper,  25  cts.  Cloth,  50  cts. 


"  The  '  Chaldean  Magician'  is  a  tale  of  Rome  in 
the  days  of  the  Emperor  Diocletian,  and  is  an  expose 
of  the  so-called  magical  art  of  that  period.  The  love 
story  which  runs  through  it  will  please  the  sentimental, 
while  the  pictures  given  of  Roman  life  and  society  will 
interest  the  general  reader." — Chicago  Evening  Journal. 

William  S.  Gottsberger,  Publisher,  New  York. 


QUINTTJS  CLAUDIUS.  — A  Romance  of  Imperial  Rome, 
by  Ernst  Eckstein,  from  the  German  by  Clara  Bell,  in 
two  vols.  Paper,  $1.00.  Cloth,  $1.75. 

"We  owe  to  Eckstein  the  brilliant  romance  of  'Quintus 
Claudius,'  which  Clara  Bell  has  done  well  to  translate  for  us,  for 
it  is  worthy  of  place  beside  the  Emperor  of  Ebers  and  the  Aspasia 
of  Hamerling.  It  is  a  story  of  Rome  in  the  reign  of  Uomitian, 
and  the  most  noted  characters  of  the  time  figure  in  its  pages, 
which  are  a  series  of  picturesque  descriptions  of  Roman  life  and. 
manners  in  the  imperial  city,  and  in  those  luxurious  retreats  at 
Baiae  and  elsewhere  to  which  the  wealthy  Romans  used  to  retreat 
from  the  heats  of  summer.  It  is  full  of  stirring  scenes  in  the 
streets,  in  the  palaces,  in  the  temples,  and  in  the  amphitheatre, 
and  the  actors  therein  represent  every  phase  of  Roman  character, 
from  the  treacherous  and  cowardly  Domitian  and  the  vile  Domitia 
down  to  the  secret  gatherings  of  the  new  sect  and  their  exit  from 
life  in  the  blood-soaked  sands  of  the  arena,  where  they  were  torn 
in  pieces  by  the  beasts  of  the  desert.  The  life  and  the  manners 
of  all  classes  at  this  period  were  never  painted  with  a  bolder 
pencil  than  by  Eckstein  in  this  masterly  romance,  which  displays 
as  much  scholarship  as  invention."— Mail  and  Express,  N.  Y. 

' '  These  neat  volumes  contain  a  story  first  published  in  German. 
It  is  written  in  that  style  which  Ebers  has  cultivated  so  success- 
fully. The  place  is  Rome ;  the  time,  that  of  Domitian  at  the  end 
of  the  first  century.  The  very  careful  study  of  historical  data,  is 
evident  from  the  notes  at  the  foot  of  nearly  every  page.  The 
author  attempted  the  difficult  task  of  presenting  in  a  single  story 
the  whole  life  of  Rome,  the  intrigues  of  that  day  which  compassed 
the  overthrow  of  Domitian,  and  the  deep  fervor  and  terrible  trials 
of  the  Christians  in  the  last  of  the  general  persecutions.  The 
court,  the  army,  the  amphitheatre,  the  catacombs,  the  evil  and 
the  good  of  Roman  manhood  and  womanhood  —  all  are  here. 
And  the  work  is  done  with  power  and  success.  It  is  a  book  for 
every  Christian  and  for  every  student,  a  book  of  lasting  value, 
bringing  more  than  one  nation  under  obligation  to  its  author." — 
JV^nv  Jerusalem  Magazine,  Boston,  Mass. 

"A  new  Romance  of  Ancient  Times  !  The  success  of  Ernst 
Eckstein's  new  novel,  'Quintus  Claudius,'  which  recently  ap- 
peared in  Vienna,  may  fairly  be  called  phenomenal,  critics  and  the 
public  unite  in  praising  the  work." — Grazer  Morgenpost. 

"  •  Quintus  Claudius'  is  a  finished  work  of  art,  capable  of 
bearing  any  analysis,  a  literary  production  teeming  with  instruc- 
tion and  interest,  full  of  plastic  forms,  and  rich  in  the  most  dra- 
matic changes  of  mood." — Pester  Lloyd. 

William  S,  Gottsberger,  Publisher,  New  York. 


PRUSIAS. — A  Romance  of  Ancient  Rome  under  the  Republic, 
by  Krnst  Eckstein,  from  the  German  by  Clara  Bell. 
Authorized  edition.  In  two  vols.  Paper,  $1.00.  Cloth,  $1.75. 

"  The  date  of  '  Prusias  '  is  the  latter  half  of  the  first  century 
B.  C.  Rome  is  waging  her  tedious  war  with  Mithridates.  There 
are  also  risings  in  Spain,  and  the  home  army  is  badly  depleted. 
Prusias  comes  to  Capua  as  a  learned  Armenian,  the  tutor  of  a 
noble  pupil  in  one  of  the  aristocratic  households.  Each  member 
of  this  circle  is  distinct.  Some  of  the  most  splendid  traits  of 
human  nature  develop  among  these  grand  statesmen  and  their 
dignified  wives,  mothers,  and  daughters.  The  ideal  Roman  maiden 
is  Psyche ;  but  she  has  a  trace  of  Greek  blood  and  of  the  native 
gentleness.  Of  a  more  interesting  type  is  Fannia,  who  might, 
minus  her  slaves  and  stola,  pass  for  a  modern  and  saucy  New  York 
beauty.  Her  wit,  spirit,  selfishness,  and  impulsive  magnanimity 
might  easily  have  been  a  nineteenth-century  evolution.  In  the 
family  to  which  Prusias  comes  are  two  sons,  one  of  military  lean- 
ings, the  other  a  student.  Into  the  ear  of  the  latter  Prusias  whis- 
pers the  real  purpose  of  his  coming  to  Italy.  He  is  an  Armenian 
and  in  league  with  Mithridates  for  the  reduction  of  Roman  rule. 
The  unity  which  the  Senate  has  tried  to  extend  to  the  freshly-con- 
quered provinces  of  Italy  is  a  thing  of  slow  growth.  Prusias  by 
his  strategy  and  helped  by  Mithridates's  gold,  hopes  to  organize 
slaves  and  disaffected  provincials  into  a  force  which  will  oblige 
weakened  Rome  to  make  terms,  one  of  which  shall  be  complete 
emancipation  and  equality  of  every  man  before  the  law.  His  har- 
angues are  in  lofty  strain,  and,  save  that  he  never  takes  the  coarse, 
belligerent  tone  of  our  contemporaries,  these  speeches  might  have 
been  made  by  one  of  our  own  Abolitionists.  The  one  point  that 
Prusias  never  forgets  is  personal  dignity  and  a  regal  consideration 
for  his  friends.  But  after  all,  this  son  of  the  gods  is  befooled  by 
a  woman,  a  sinuous  and  transcendently  ambitious  Roman  belle, 
the  second  wife  of  the  dull  and  trustful  prefect  of  Capua ;  for 
this  tiny  woman  had  all  men  in  her  net  whom  she  found  it  useful 
to  have  there. 

"The  daughter  of  the  prefect — hard,  homely-featured,  and  hat- 
ing the  supple  stepmother  with  an  unspeakable  hate,  tearing  her 
beauty  at  last  like  a  tigress  and  so  causing  her  death  —  is  a  repul- 
sive but  very  strong  figure.  The  two  brothers  who  range  them- 
selves on  opposite  sides  in  the  servile  war  make  another  unforget- 
table picture;  and  the  beautiful  slave  Brenna,  who  follows  her 
noble  lover  into  camp,  is  a  spark  of  light  against  the  lurid  back- 
ground. The  servile  movement  is  combined  with  the  bold  plans 
of  the  Thracian  Spartacus.  He  is  a  good  figure  and  perpetually 
surprises  us  with  his  keen  foresight  and  disciplinary  power. 

"The  book  is  stirring,  realistic  in  the  even  German  way,  and 
full  of  the  fibre  and  breath  of  its  century."  Boston  Ev'g  Transcript. 


THE  WILL,.— A  NOVEL,  by  Ernst  Eckstein,  from  the 
German  by  Clara  Bell,  in  two  vols.  Paper,  $1.00  Cloth,  $1.75 
per  set. 

"  SINCE  the  appearance  of  '  Debit  and  Credit'  we  have  not 
seen  a  German  novel  that  can  rank,  in  the  line  struck  out  by  that 
famous  work,  with  'The  Will,'  by  Ernst  Eckstein;  It  is  a  vivid 
picture  of  German  city  life,  and  the  characters,  whether  quaint, 
commonplace,  tragical,  or  a  mixture  of  all  three,  are  admirably 
drawn.  All  the  German  carefulness  is  in  Eckstein's  work,  but 
there  is  besides  a  sparkle  and  verve  entirely  French — and  French 
of  the  best  kind." —  Catholic  Mirror,  Baltimore. 

"THE  chief  value- of  the  book  is  in  its  well-drawn  and  strong 
pictures  of  life  in  both  German  cities  and  villages,  and  Clara  Bell, 
has,  as  usual,  proved  herself  a  mistress  of  the  German  Tongue." — 
Sunday  Star,  Providence. 

"  ERNST  ECKSTEIN,  hitherto  known  as  a  writer  of  classical 
romance,  now  tries  his  hand  upon  a  genre  story  of  Ger- 
man life.  To  our  mind,  it  is  his  most  successful  work." — Bul- 
letin, San  Francisco,  Cal. 

"THE present  work  is  entitled  'The  Will,'  and  is  written  by 
Ernst  Eckstein,  the  author  of  the  striking  historical  novel,  Quin- 
tus  Claudius.  The  name  of  Clara  Bell  as  the  translator  from  the 
German  is  assurance  enough  of  the  excellence  of  its  rendering 
into  English.  The  plot  of  the  story  is  not  a  novel  one,  but  it  is 
skillfully  executed,  and  the  whole  tale  is  developed  with  much 
dramatic  power." — Boston  Zion's  Herald. 

"  'THE  WILL,'  by  Eckstein,  is  the  latest  and  best  work  of 
its  author.  The  scene,  the  people,  the  events  of  the  story  are 
new,  the  plot  is  ingenious,  and  the  action  rapid  and  exciting 
enough  to  please  the  most  jaded  novel  reader.  The  character  of 
schoolmaster  Heinzius  would  alone  make  the  reputation  of  a  new 
writer,  and  there  are  other  sketches  from  life  none  the  less 
masterly.  Ernst  Eckstein  excels  in  heroines,  of  whom  there  are 
several  in  the  book — all  clearly  defined— contending  for  the 
sympathy  of  the  reader." — The  Journal  of  Commerce,  New  York, 

William  S.  Gottsber^er,  Publisher,  New  York. 


THE  ELEVENTH  COMMANDMENT.— A  Romance 
by  Anton  Giulio  Barrili,  from  the  Italian  by  Clara 
Bell,  in  one  vol.  Paper,  50  cts.  Cloth,  90  cts. 


"  If  Italian  literature  includes  any  more  such  unique  and 
•charming  stories  as  this  one,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  translators  will 
not  fail  to  discover  them  to  the  American  public.  The  '  Eleventh 
Commandment '  deals  with  a  variety  of  topics  —  the  social  intrigues 
necessary  to  bring  about  preferment  in  political  life,  a  communal 
order,  an  adventurous  unconventional  heiress,  and  her  acquiescent, 
good-natured  uncle,  and  most  cleverly  are  the  various  elements 
combined,  the  whole  forming  an  excellent  and  diverting  little  story. 
The  advent  of  a  modern  Eve  in  the  masculine  paradise  (?)  estab- 
lished at  the  Convent  of  San  Bruno  is  fraught  with  weighty  con- 
sequences, not  only  to  the  individual  members  of  the  brotherhood, 
but  to  the  well-being  of  the  community  itself.  The  narrative  of 
M'lle  Adela's  adventures  is  blithely  told,  and  the  moral  deducible 
therefrom  for  men  is  that,  on  occasion,  flight  is  the  surest  method 
of  combating  temptation. " — Art  Interchange,  New  York. 

"Very  entertaining  is  the  story  of  '  The  Eleventh  Command- 
ment,' ingeniously  conceived  and  very  cleverly  executed." — The 
Critic,  New  York. 


A    WHIMSICAL    WOOING.— By   Anton   Giulio 

Barrili,  from  the  Italian  by  Clara  Bell,  in  one  vol.     Paper, 
25  cts.     Cloth,  50  cts. x 

"If  'The  Eleventh  Commandment,'  the  previous  work  of 
Barrili,  was  a  good  three-act  play,  'A  Whimsical  Wooing'  is  a 
sparkling  comedietta.  It  is  one  situation,  a  single  catastrophe,  yet, 
like  a  bit  of  impressionist  painting  of  the  finer  sort,  it  reveals  in  a 
flash  all  the  possibilities  of  the  scene.  The  hero,  Roberto  Fenoglio, 
a  man  of  wealth,  position,  and  accomplishments,  finds  himself  at 
the  end  of  his  resources  for  entertainment  or  interest.  Hopelessly 
bored,  he  abandons  himself  to  the  drift  of  chance,  and  finds  him- 
self, in  no  longer  space  of  time  than  from  midnight  to  daylight — 
where  and  how,  the  reader  will  thank  us  for  not  forestalling  his 
pleasure  in  finding  out  for  himself." — The  Nation,  New  York. 

"•A  Whimsical  Wooing'  is  the  richly-expressive  title  under 
which  '  Clara  Bell '  introduces  a  cleverly-narrated  episode  by 
Anton  Giulio  Barrili  to  American  readers.  It  is  a  sketch  of  Italian 
life,  at  once  rich  and  strong,  but  nevertheless  discreet  in  sentiment 
and  graceful  in  diction.  It  is  the  old  story  of  the  fallacy  of  trust- 
ing to  a  proxy  in  love  matters." — Boston  Post. 

William  S.  Gottsberger,  Piiblisher,  New  York. 


ERNESTINE.  — A  Novel,  by  Wilhelmine  ron  Hill- 
em,  from  the  German  by  S.  Baring-Gould,  in  two  vols. 
Paper,  80  cts.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  'Ernestine'  is  a  work  of  positive  genius.  An  English  critic 
has  likened  the  conception  of  the  heroine  in  her  childhood  to 
George  Eliot's  Maggie  Tulliver,  and  truly  there  is  a  certain  resem- 
blance ;  but  there  is  in  the  piece  a  much  stronger  suggestion  of 
George  Eliot's  calm  mastery  of  the  secret  springs  of  human 
action,  and  George  Eliot's  gift  of  laying  bare  the  life  of  a  human 
soul,  than  of  likeness  between  particular  characters  or  situations 
here  and  those  with  which  we  are  familiar  in  George  Eliot's 
works." — Neiv  York  Evening  Post. 

THE    HOUR    WILL   COME.— A    Tale   of  an   Alpine 

Cloister,  by  Wilhelmine  von  Hillern,  from  the  Ger- 
man by  Clara  Bell,  in  one  vol.    Paper,  40  cts.    Cloth,  75  cts. 

"'The  Hour  Will  Come'1  is  the  title  of  a  translation  by 
Clara  Bell  from  the  German  original  of  Wilhelmine  von  Hillern, 
author  of  that  beautiful  romance  '  Geier-Wally.'  'The  Hour 
Will  Come'  is  hardly  less  interesting,  its  plot  being  one  of  the 
strongest  and  most  pathetic  that  could  well  be  imagined.  The  time 
k  the  Middle  Ages,  and  Frau  von  Hillern  has  achieved  a  remark- 
able success  in  reproducing  the  rudeness,  the  picturesqueness  and 
the  sombre  coloring  of  those  days.  Those  who  take  up  'The 
Hour  Will  Come'  will  not  care  to  lay  it  down  again  until  they 
have  read  it  through." — Baltimore  Gazette. 

HIGHER  THAN  THE  CHURCH.— An  Art  Legend 
of  Ancient  Times,  by  Wilhelllline  von  Hillern,  from 
the  German  by  Mary  J.  Safford,  in  one  vol.  Paper,  25  cts. 
Cloth,  50  cts.  

"  Mary  J.  Safford  translates  acceptably  a  very  charming  short 
story  from  the  German  of  Wilhelmine  von  Hillern.  If  it  was  not 
told  by  the  sacristan  of  Breisach,  it  deserves  to  have  been.  It  has 
the  full  flavor  of  old  German  and  English  love  tales,  such  as  have 
been  crystallized  in  the  old  ballads.  The  Emperor,  the  gifted 
boy,  his  struggles  with  the  stupidity  of  his  townsmen,  his  ap- 
parently hopeless  love  above  him ;  these  form  the  old  delightful 
scene,  set  in  a  Diireresque  border.  There  are  touches  here  and 
there  which  refer  to  the  present.  The  sixteenth  century  tale  has 
a  political  moral  that  will  appeal  to  Germans  who  believe  that 
Alsatia,  once  German  in  heart  as  well  as  in  tongue,  ought  to  be 
held  by  force  to  the  Fatherland  till  she  forgets  her  beloved 
France."— N.  Y.  Times. 

William  S.  Gottsberger,  Publisher,  New  York. 


ASP  ASIA.  —  A  Romance,  by  Hubert  Hamcrliiig,  from 
the  German  by  Mary  J.  Safford,  in  two  vols.  Paper,  $1.00. 
Cloth,  $1.75. 

"  We  have  read  his  work  conscientiously,  and,  we  confess,  with 
profit.  Never  have  we  had  so  clear  an  insight  into  the  manners, 
thoughts,  and  feelings  of  the  ancient  Greeks.  No  study  has  made 
us  so  familiar  with  the  age  of  Pericles.  We  recognize  throughout 
that  the  author  is  master  of  the  period  of  which  he  treats.  More- 
over, looking  back  upon  the  work  from  the  end  to  the  beginning, 
we  clearly  perceive  in  it  a  complete  unity  of  purpose  not  at  all 
evident  during  the  reading." 

"  Hamerling's  Aspasia,  herself  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
all  Hellas,  is  the  apostle  of  beauty  and  of  joyousness,  the  im- 
placable enemy  of  all  that  is  stern  and  harsh  in  life.  Unfortunately, 
morality  is  stern,  and  had  no  place  among  Aspasia's  doctrines. 
This  ugly  fact,  Landor  has  thrust  as  far  into  the  background  as 
possible.  Hamerling  obtrudes  it.  He  does  not  moralize,  he 
neither  condemns  nor  praises ;  but  like  a  fate,  silent,  passionless, 
and  resistless,  he  carries  the  story  along,  allows  the  sunshine  for 
a  time  to  silver  the  turbid  stream,  the  butterflies  and  gnats  to  flut- 
ter above  it  in  rainbow  tints,  and  then  remorselessly  draws  over 
the  landscape  gray  twilight.  He  but  follows  the  course  of 
history;  yet  the  absolute  pitilessness  with  which  he  does  it  is 
almost  terrible." — Extracts  from  Review  in  Yale  Literary 
Magazine. 

"  No  more  beautiful  chapter  can  be  found  in  any  book  of  this 
age  than  that  in  which  Pericles  and  Aspasia  are  described  as  visit- 
ing the  poet  Sophocles  in  the  garden  on  the  bank  of  the  Cephis- 
sus." —  Utica  Morning  Herald. 

"It  is  one  of  the  great  excellencies  of  this  romance,  this  lofty 
song  of  the  genius  of  the  Greeks,  that  it  is  composed  with  perfect 
artistic  symmetry  in  the  treatment  of  the  different  parts,  and  from 
the  first  word  to  the  last  is  thoroughly  harmonious  in  tone  and 
coloring.  Therefore,  in  'Aspasia, 'we  are  given  a  book,  which 
could  only  proceed  from  the  union  of  an  artistic  nature  and  a 
thoughtful  mind — a  book  that  does  not  depict  fiery  passions  in 
dramatic  conflict,  but  with  dignified  composure,  leads  the  conflict 
therein  described  to  the  final  catastrophe." — A llgemeine Zeitung. 
(Augsburg). 

William  S.  Gottsberger,  Publisher,  New  York. 


ELIZABETH;  OR  THE  EXILES  OF  SIBERIA.  —  From  the 
French  of  Mme.  Sophie  Cottill,  one  vol.  Paper,  25 
cents.  Cloth,  50  cents. 

"  A  new  edition  of  the  English  translation  of  that  famous 
old  story  '  Elizabeth  ;  or  the  Exiles  of  Siberia,'  which  used  to 
be  the  standard  French  reader  in  private  schools,  where  many  a 
tender-hearted  school-girl  cried  not  only  over  the  hard  task  of 
rendering  the  difficult  French  phrases  into  her  own  tongue,  but 
also  over  the  misfortunes  of  this  generous-souled  heroine.  There 
are  few  French  tales  so  full  of  deep  pure  feeling  as  this,  by  Mme. 
Sophie  Cottin  (born  1773,  died  1807),  and  although  it  seems 
almost  too  well  known  to  create  a  fresh  sensation,  it  will  always 
be  one  of  the  few  books  that  mothers  can  safely  place  into  the 
hands  of  their  young  daughters,  knowing  at  the  time  that  the 
perusal  of  them  will  not  only  amuse  but  waken  tender  and  gener- 
ous feelings  in  the  young.heart,  that  perhaps  needed  a  story  like 
this  to  make  them  spring  into  life." — Albany  Times. 


ELIANE.— A  Novel,  by  Mine.  Augustus  Craven,  from 
the  French  by  Lady  Georgiana  Fullerton,  in  one  vol.  Paper, 
50  cents.  Cloth,  90  cents. 

"It  is  not  only  pure,  but  is,  we  believe,  a  trustworthy  de- 
scription of  the  dignified  French  life  of  which  it  is  a  picture. 
'  Eliane  '  is  one  of  the  very  best  novels  we  have  read  for  one  or 
two  seasons  past." — The  American  Literary  Churchman,  Balti- 
more. 

"  '  Eliane  '  is  interesting  not  only  because  it  is  such  a  record 
of  the  best  kind  of  French  life  and  manners  as  could  only  have 
been  written  by  a  person  thoroughly  at  home  in  the  subject,  but 
also  because  of  the  delicate  drawing  of  character  which  it  con- 
tains."— London  Sat.  Review. 


RANTHORPE.— A  Novel,  by  George  Henry  Lewes, 

in  one  vol.     Paper,  40  cents.     Cloth,  75  cents. 

"  There  is  a  good  deal  of  svisdom  in  it  that  is  not  without  its 
use." — Popular  Science  Monthly. 

<( '  Ranthorpe  '  is  a  reprint  of  a  novel  written  in  1842,  by 
George  Henry  Lewes,  the  well-known  husband  of  George  Eliot 
It  belongs  to  the  psychological  class,  and  is  keenly  introspective 
throughout.  The  style  is  well  adapted  to  the  work,  displaying 
the  versatility  of  a  mind  whose  natural  bent  was  towards  meta- 
physics and  the  exact  sciences." — Montreal  Star. 

William  S.  Gottsberger,  Publisher,  New  York. 


GEORG    EBERS 

ROMANCES  &  BIOGRAPHIES 

COMPRISING  : 

AN  EGYPTIAN  PRINCESS, 

TWO   VOLUMES 

THE  BRIDE   OF   THE  NILE, 

TWO    VOLUMES 

THE   BURGOMASTER'S    WIFE, 

ONE    VOLUME 

SERAPIS,  THE  EMPEROR, 

ONE    VOLUME  TWO    VOLUMES 

UARDA,  HOMO    SUM, 

TWO    VOLUMES  ONE    VOLUME 

.      THE  SISTERS,  4   QUESTION, 

ONE    VOLUME  ONE    VOLUME 

A    WORD,    ONLY  A    WORD, 

ONE    VOLUME 

LORENZ  ALMA-TADEMA, 

ONE    VOLUME 

RICHARD   LEPSIUS, 

ONE    VOLUME 


ROMANCES,  14  volumes,  cloth,  incase,    -    -     -     -    -    -   $11  oo 

"     and  BIOGRAPHIES,  16  volumes,  cloth,  in  case,         13  oo 
"         "  "  "        half  calf  extra,  incase,  32  oo 


UCSB  LIBRARY" 


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